Dangerous Mine
by Atypicall
Summary: A psychotic killer is after the 7, and wounds of the past are reexamined
1. Past is Prologue

Title: ATF AU

A/N: It has been many, many years since I've set foot in this fandom. But I used to love writing for it, and hopefully you like it. The ones you haven't seen on TV are mine, one of which I've used before if you want history.

Disclaimer: I own nothing of importance, please don't sue.

-A psychopath comes after Team Seven and old wounds are rediscovered-

--------

"Reports to me before you leave gentlemen!" A blonde head peeked out of the now open door to an office, steely gray blue eyes passing over each of his men in turn. "And that means you too Vin," he said, gaze settling on the scruffy face of Team Seven's resident sharpshooter. The team leader let the thought linger, before disappearing back inside.

Vin Tanner leaned his scruffy chin into his hand, annoyance playing across his deep blue eyes. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," he grumbled, staring frustratedly at his computer screen. He hated reports. He knew what it was that needed to be said, but putting words to the page just seemed slow and pointless. It didn't help that most of the others had finished already.

Buck and JD were currently involved in an intense game of paper football. Josiah was dutifully packing away his desk while he and Nathan, the ex-army medic, chatted amiably across their shared desk. Ezra at least, situated almost directly across the bullpen from Vin's desk, still seemed occupied with the business of finishing the team's latest round of reports. His eyes quickly scanned his screen as he scrolled down with one hand on his mouse, the other hand rolling a quarter in between his fingers.

Strange really, Vin mused, how well they all got alone despite their differences. In fact, most of the time it seemed their eclectic natures made them better agents, a better team. Team Seven was by far the most decorated squad of the Colorado ATF. Chris and Buck had both joined the ATF from the Denver Homicide Unit, Chris not long after the tragic deaths of his wife and son, Buck a few years thereafter. A case had led them to Nathan, a forensics expert and former army medic, a fact which most of them had had cause to be thankful for. Josiah, quiet and patient, the elder statesmen of their group was a profiler. JD was the kid, a computer whiz kid, with enough tenacity to go searching out Larabee for a job. For a long time he and Ezra, the charismatic souther undercover agent, had rounded out their weird little group, till some eighteen months ago, when they became eight, instead of seven.

They'd met her working a case, each side not knowing of the other. Sam, once upon a time member of the Chicago crime family turned informant and mole. The name still left a bitter cast on his throat. Once discovering that she and Team Seven were playing both sides of the same op, they had joined forces. And with successful completion of the job, Larabee had gone to the higher ups, petitioning for an eighth slot on the team. After more than a little cajoling they had agreed, and Sam had made them an even eight, for a while anyway.

When her past caught up with her, Samantha had been left with a choice. A difficult choice, to be certain, but a choice. Try and fix a broken past, or stay and move on. And she'd chosen to leave with barely a goodbye and no word since.

But the damage was done. Larabee had petitioned for an eighth member of his team, and that's what he was getting, like it or not. So had come the string of replacements, one after the other, usually run off within a couple of weeks. They were generally fresh from the academy, lots of book smarts and little sense, wound too tight for the group's customary practical joking, or just too wet behind the ears to handle their kinds of cases. None of them lasted long... until Vanessa.

She strode in front of his desk now, hips swinging, all 5'10" of her perfectly pressed and coifed. Expensive gray slacks swished just above the toe cap of her three inch heels, crimson shirt fluffed over the waistband of her slacks, unbuttoned just far enough to offer the possibility of cleavage, and Buck was instantly distracted from his paper football game the moment she rose from her desk. French manicured fingernails clutched her report in her right hand. Thick, wavy chocolate locks were pulled away from her face in a loose french twist and her pouty red lips held their customary half frown position.

Vanessa Navarro looked, in many ways, more like an actress than a field agent, save the 9mm she carried in her shoulder holster. To her credit however, she'd been with the team nearly four months, and didn't seem close to quitting. She held her own with the boys, though she rarely smiled, and joking was pretty much out of the question. But she was competent, and that was something at least. She was fine really, nothing to complain about, but the sharpshooter still didn't like her. And he still didn't know why.

Vanessa knocked lightly on Chris' door. He didn't answer. She waited a moment, then knocked again. "Come in," the gruff reply came from inside. Chris looked up from a the sheaf of paperwork when she entered. "I forget you're not like the rest of them," he grunted, "you actually _wait _to enter."

It was a joke, in a very Chris Larabee kind of way. Vanessa didn't even grin. "My report sir," she said, handing it over. Stifling a frustrated sigh, Chris took the papers from her, setting them in his inbox to be checked over. He glanced at the clock on his computer 5:56pm. They all should have been out of there an hour ago, but the brass was being particularly prickly lately, and the reports were due first thing Monday. So he was looking at a long night here, or another Saturday working... wonderful.

Turning back to his paperwork he realized Vanessa still stood before him, hands clasped behind her back. His eyebrow rose up beneath a mop of tousled blonde hair. "You're uh, dismissed," he told her. She turned crisply on her heel and strode from his office. Chris gave a small shake of his head, nice enough woman, decent agent, just not... one of them.

Buck descended upon Vanessa the moment she stepped back into the bullpen. "Feelin' like gracin' our presence tonight at the Saloon there darlin'? I'm thinking we could all use a beer."

"No, thank you Buck, but I think I'll pass tonight. I'm not quite feeling the whole beer and stale peanuts vibe." She flashed him a broad smile. "Some other time." Patting him on the arm, Vanessa slid past him to her desk, whipping a dark gray blazer from the back of her chair.

"You say that every time," Buck protested with a teasing whine, a large smile plastered across his handsome face. Ezra paused at his desk, green eyes flicking upward to watch the exchange.

Vanessa shrugged her way into her jacket. "And every time," she paused, "I mean it. Good night gentlemen, I'll see you Monday." A chorus of voices from around the bullpen echoed the sentiment. Buck watched appreciatively as she strode toward the elevator, head tilting sideways as the doors slid shut behind her.

Buck bounced on the balls of his feet. "I'm wearin' her down boys, I'm telling you." A well aimed paper football hit him in the side of the head. JD hooked his thumbs into his belt loops and stared innocently at the ceiling. Nathan grinned and shook his head.

"It does amaze," the oft reticent southerner's lilting voice wafted across the room, heavy with sarcasm, "that the lady continues to reject your philanderer 's charms.

"Well that's what I'm saying Ezra!" Buck exclaimed. "One of these days she's gonna have to give in to her baser instincts."

"What?" Vin grunted, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "To run?"

The five other men broke into raucous laughter, and after a minute or two Buck had the good sense to join. "But seriously boys, it's feeling like beer thirty to me. Who's in?"

"I'll come Buck," JD announced eagerly.

The older man rolled his eyes. "You'd have to JD. I'm your ride since that little wind up toy you call a bike is broken... again." JD shrugged. Vin nodded his approval, working a little faster on his report now that the end of the day pressed closer, as well as the promise of a nice, ice cold glass of.... oh hell, they were just gonna have to take it as is and like it. Vin hit print.

Nathan declined, begging off to head for Longmont and a date with his long time girlfriend, Rain. "Think I'll head down with you," Josiah offered, "least for a while. But it's an early night for me. My plan is to rise early and get a good jump on the heat up Long's tomorrow. Nothing for the spiritual soul like clean air and a long trek."

"Well hell Josiah that sounds like a fine plan. You mindin' some company?" Vin offered.

"Brother Vin, you are always welcome along."

"Well all right then, I just may do that."

"What about you Ezra?" Buck questioned. "Up for a beer? Couple games of eight ball?"

The southerner stretched, hands reaching behind his head as he arched his back. "That is hardly fair Buck," Ezra said, hitting the print button as well, "as you know how I do enjoy besting you on the billiards table." The undercover agent flashed a toothy, cocky grin.

Truth of the matter was that Ezra was was almost as adept on the pool table as he was on the poker table. But unlike the poker table, Buck, Vin, and Chris were an almost even match with the southerner, which made for some interesting games, especially since none of them were above various forms of 'distraction'. Josiah, surprisingly, was far and away the best player among them, though mostly he was happy to observe.

"So you say Ez, but I seem to recall the tables bein' flipped last time we played," Buck meandered toward Ezra's desk, rapping his knuckles on the tabletop.

"An occurrence, I assure you, that will not take place again. Allow me to deliver my report to our estimable leader and I will be ready to rectify..."

"Damn it Ezra," Chris' bellow interrupted, "aren't you done yet?" He stood at the threshold of his door, arms crossed irritably. If he didn't put a stop to their bickering now, it would never end. "I, for one, want to get the hell out of here and start my weekend! Of course, I get to come back here tomorrow, but I'd at least like an enjoyable Friday night, and I can't until you finish your business."

"Of course Mr. Larabee, I was on my way."

"Uh huh," Chris grunted once before vanishing back into his office. Prompted by Chris' temper and their own desire for a rare free weekend, the men of Team Seven were soon filing out of the Denver Federal Building, Nathan to his Ford Explorer, and the rest trooping the handful of blocks to the bar casually referred to as 'The Saloon'. As they walked, Ezra dropped a few steps behind the others, digging his cell phone out of his breast pocket. One missed call, as expected. He pocketed the phone and trotted a few steps to fall in stride beside Vin. Lately it had become a rare occasion to visit the Saloon and its lovely bartender Inez, longtime friend to the Seven, his other engagement could wait a few hours longer.

It was just after ten when Ezra arrived back at his apartment building. The doorman that kept watch over the front door during the day finished his shift at eight, so the undercover agent let himself in via the electronic keypad lock outside the double glass doors. The door beeped agreeably once and he entered, his coat folded neatly over his right forearm.

"I've been waiting," the smooth, rich voice reached him as he approached the elevator. Not accusatory exactly, but not happy either. Ezra paused, finger hovering over the 9th floor button that he had just pressed, and glanced back over his shoulder. The tall, slender woman materialized behind him as if out of nowhere, a habit he still found mildly disconcerting.

"Unless I am quite mistaken," he drawled slowly, "I made you well aware of my plans for this evening."

Vanessa slid a hand over his lower back, stepping closer to him until he could feel the heat of her body on his. "You said you'd be done by nine," she murmured into his ear, a distinct pout in her voice. "I wanted to spend time with you tonight."

Ezra swiftly reached around and removed her hand from his back, turning to face the other agent. "You could have spent time with me at the tavern, had you chosen to accept Mr. Wilmington's invitation, but you did not. Nevertheless, it is still the shank of the evening, and here I am." He smiled softly, brilliant green eyes meeting dark brown. She really was beautiful. "Coming up?"

Lips pursed, she looked for a moment like she might argue, and then she nodded. The elevator pinged and the doors slid open. Vanessa entered first, Ezra following close behind. They rode up the nine floors in silence.

Ezra let them inside his two bedroom, Cherry Creek apartment, flipping on the light in the living room. Vanessa made for the kitchen, slinging her jacket over the back of his overstuffed chair, while Ezra headed for the bedroom. He heard the distinctive clink of wine glasses while he hung up his expensive Armani suit coat.

"The Shiraz or the Chardonnay?" the question floated in from the other room.

"Shiraz," Ezra answered quickly. He removed his cufflinks and set them on the top of his set of drawers, along with his wallet and Rolex. Then he took off his shoes, setting them beside the buffing machine near the closet.

He lifted his head and caught sight of himself in his mirror. Moving closer, he took a long look at his reflection and shook his head. "What are you doing Ezra?" he murmured to himself.

She was waiting for him when he returned, heels kicked off, long legs folded beneath her on the couch. She held a glass of red wine in each hand, and he couldn't help but notice that she'd undone another two buttons on her blouse. He settled beside her with a tired sigh, taking the offered glass from her hand. The wine was deep bodied and rich, a soothing warmth as it trickled down his throat.

"You know," Vanessa ventured slowly, "I wouldn't have to wait in the lobby if you gave me a key."

The glass stopped halfway to Ezra's lips. They'd had this conversation before, and it irritated him as much as ever. "I have already told you of feelings on this matter. I do not wish to allow another person access to my abode while I am not present."

"I know you like your privacy Ezra, but I'm not just any person. And as much as you want to keep this quiet from everyone else on the Team, I'm surprised you're comfortable having me wait downstairs for everyone to see as they pass by."

Ezra felt a stab of guilt at that. True, no one else knew about Vanessa and his habitual evening trysts. The situation was complicated for him enough without having to deal with the ribbings from Buck, JD and the others, or Chris' stern disapproval. They were colleagues, and it wasn't love, he knew that much at least. The thought brought another wave of guilt. The first time he'd slept with Vanessa had been a mistake, a drunken accident after a night of too much celebration and a shared cab ride made by two people not considering the consequences.

The second time, Ezra gnawed on the inside of his cheek, the second time he'd made a choice. He'd been alone a long time, and Vanessa was gorgeous, and smart, and driven, and all those things he admired. So he'd slept with her again, hoping his admiration might turn to affection and affection to something deeper. Yet it hadn't, not in any real way, but he was glad for the companionship and so the affair continued, despite his better judgement. And for him, companionship was enough, but he suspected otherwise for her. He had to end this, soon, while they both still had a shot to come away unscathed.

"It is a risk I am willing to take," he said, finality ringing in his voice.

Vanessa sipped her wine as well, knowing well enough that the discussion was over, taking study of the apartment, the warm colors on the walls and homey dark wood floors. No matter how many times she was there, it never ceased to surprise her how little felt lived in. It was perfect, all press and polish and no Ezra at all, save the one framed picture he kept on and end table, the one she always found herself looking at.

Vanessa reached out and arranged the photo in better light. It was a picture of Team Seven from before her addition to the agency. They were out at Chris' ranch on a sunny fall day, all seven men smiling at the camera, and one woman with long copper hair, grinning beside Vin. She felt a twinge of irrational jealousy. Silly she knew, considering the circumstances of Samantha Hunter's departure from the Team, and that no one had seen or heard from the woman in more than a year. "You need a new picture."

"I happen to like that photo," Ezra responded, taking another long drink from his glass.

Vanessa resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him. The man was stubborn to a fault. Quickly, she drained the rest of her wine. She unfolded her legs on the couch, set her glass on the low table in front of her and turned to Ezra, sliding her hand up his neck. She pulled him to her, lips brushing lightly over his. "I'm going to bed," she whispered. "Coming?" She kissed him again, deeper this time, the wine still flavoring her lips. Then she rose, and walked backwards toward the bedroom, unbuttoning the rest of her blouse as she went. Ezra watched appreciatively until she passed through the door, and then he followed.

--

Meanwhile, some forty miles away, just outside Colorado Springs, a woman walked into a parking garage, long copper hair pulled back in a ponytail. Samantha Hunter wore a blue tank top and black gym pants, hooded sweatshirt tied hastily around her slender waist. The summer night air was still too balmy to put the sweatshirt on, and she was still sweaty from her workout.

Few cars were left in the garage, seeing as it was late on a Friday night. But she'd had a late class at the gym where she taught martial arts, and still wanted to put in a good workout after that. Not like she'd had any other plans for that night anyway, except to go home, crack a beer and reheat a quick bite in front of her TV before retiring for the night. It was a comfortable process she'd repeated one hundred times before.

But for some reason that night, as she walked swiftly to her metallic silver-blue 72' Corvette, the hairs on the back of her neck started to stand up on end. Unease welled in her gut, and her eyes flicked cautiously around the parking garage. Nothing. Still, she walked a little faster, hand flexing on her car keys.

The man burst out from the darkness behind a large red SUV, a gloved hand snaking around her waist and another around her mouth. Sam moved, a reaction borne of years of training. She reached over her shoulder for the man's wrist, plated her foot and flung him over her hip. He hit the ground on his side and rolled, and she saw that a stocking cap covered his face. He leapt to his feet, hands raised to fight.

The attacker came at her, and she blocked two blows and ducked a roundhouse right, before planting a foot in his gut with a solid front kick. He stumbled back a few steps before righting himself and coming again. There was no time to think, no time to consider the motivations, she just acted, and reacted. They traded blows for a minute, and soon Sam's ribs were aching and her lips was split, blood trailing down her chin. Her attacker was limping. Then the man decided to better his odds. He drew a long hunting knife from a sheath on his hip, waving the blade menacingly.

She managed to avoid a few blows, before the knife found its mark, slicing open her exposed shoulder. The pain brought tears to her eyes and she faltered. The man had no pity, descending on her like a rabid dog. She grappled with the knife as he slammed his knee up into her gut and side. One of her ribs cracked, she could feel it, and she gasped, dropping to her knees, wheezing. "You're gonna give Chris Larabee a message for me," a deep voice growled from behind the mask. Then he drew back his arm, and his fist connected with the side of her head, and everything went dark.

--

Monday morning, Vin Tanner pulled into the parking garage of the Denver Federal building, his ancient Jeep letting out a guttural growl when he put it in park. He was running late, the only car he didn't see being Ezra's sleek Jag. He hopped down out of the cab, pulling the seat forward so he could grab his bag out of the back.

He locked the door and heard the sound of tires screeching as someone obviously took a corner too fast. He turned, and saw the top of a white van speeding for the exit. With a shrug, he headed for the elevator that led inside.

"Hey Vin," there was something off to it, but the familiar voice stopped the sharpshooter dead in his tracks.

"Saman..." the name died on his lips when he turned and saw the woman staggering toward him. She was barely recognizable, hair a mess, face covered in blood and bruises, her right arm held awkwardly across her midsection. Samantha Hunter stopped and swayed, reaching out to steady herself on the trunk of a nearby car. "What the hell?"

"Aww now Vin, that ain't the face of someone happy to see me," she tried to grin and failed miserably. The world started to spin. Vin dropped his bag from his shoulder and rushed to her side as her knees gave way. "I think you boys went and pissed someone off again. Go figure." Then she passed out.

--

Chapter 1

I will give more background info on Sam, but if you care to, you can read her intro in a couple of my other stories 'A Really Big Fish' and 'Investigative Reporting'. She's in another one too, but I wasn't as happy with that story. Please review :)


	2. Tricky

Chapter 2:

A/N: I want to thank everyone in advance for giving this a chance. Should be a fairly good mix of all seven characters, plus my two OFC's, which hopefully work well within the story.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, only the ones you didn't see on TV. Thanks to those that made up this universe.

--

"Don't know what to tell you cowboy," Vin Tanner shrugged, "but that's all she said to me before she passed out. 'I think you boys went and pissed someone off again.'"

"No names? Not a clue?" It was the third time Chris had asked some variation of the question. Vin shot his friend a leveling look. The leader of Team 7 withdrew his hands from his hips, rubbing his face with his right hand. "Yeah," he sighed, "never mind."

They stood a few feet away from the hospital bed located in a private room of the Swedish Medical Center. Samantha Hunter lay motionless beneath the thin sheets, connected by a bunch of wires to a series of monitors and IV's, all of which beeped in a steady, reassuring pattern. Both the nurses and the doctor had attempted to usher the two federal agents to the waiting room, but two matching icy glares had put a stop to that quickly.

"Just loaded her up in my Jeep and came straight here," Vin went on. "I don't reckon' we'll get much in answers till she wakes up."

Vin slouched against the wall, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops of his pants, one booted foot propped behind him against the wall. She looked small lying there, frail, a word he would have never imagined using in the same context as Sam. She had always been loud, strong, a fighter. Or maybe it wasn't her at all, maybe it was him. She was lying there, bruised and broken, and he couldn't have helped it, and he was still clueless as to the why. He was helpless, and it made him frail. He didn't like the feeling.

Vin studied her carefully through hooded lids, knowing Chris still knew, and knowing he would never say anything. Vin and Sam had become fast friends during her time with the agency. Skilled in both Karate and kickboxing, Sam had been a good sparring partner for Vin, and they'd often hung out outside of work. Blue eyes lingered on the dark red circles around her wrists, skin bleeding and blistered and raw. Anger rose in him like bile.

"What did the docs say?"

"What?" Vin looked over at the blonde man, distracted.

Patient, Chris asked again. "What did the docs say?"

_Yeah, what did the docs say?_

"Not much you don't know," the sharpshooter said with a shrug. "She'd got a concussion, so they took her up for a Cat-scan, which was clean. There's a hairline fracture of her left cheekbone, so she'll be sportin the black eyed look a while. Couple busted ribs, some bruising on her kidneys." Vin stopped for a moment, jaw working. "They broke some of her fingers on her left hand, and she's missing three fingernails. Cut her up pretty good too." He pushed himself off the wall and began to pace. He'd seen that kind of tactic before. "Whoever it was beat the shit out of her, and then they tortured her."

_Torture, gee that's novel. I must look like hell._

"Doesn't that kind of make you think it was a personal thing?" Chris questioned, more to hear the thought aloud than expecting a real answer. "Maybe someone she helped us put away while she was part of the Team."

_Not personal Chris, all you guys. I've been keeping my nose clean here._

"Does it matter?"

"Might. If it means a clue to finding out who did this," Chris said reasonably. "JD and Buck are goin over the security footage from the garage right now. Nathan and Josiah are interviewing the attendant." Chris watched some of the tension seep from the younger man's shoulders. Something was being done, even if not by him. Made him feel better.

Vin stopped his pacing. "You tell Ezra?"

_Ezra. God. I bet that went over well._

Chris made a face. "Yep. Can't say it went over too well."

_Ha. Wait, that's not funny. Really though, they're taking this far better than I thought they would. Now if only I could open my damned eyes. _Sam felt consciousness returning, but she lingered on the edge of it, her eyes feeling too heavy too lift. It was an odd, disembodied feeling.

"Didn't expect much different, really. What'd he say?" Vin was curious. Next to himself, Sam had probably been closest to the reticent southerner, despite their distinctly oil and water personalities. Sam had rubbed Ezra wrong from the start, but the two had grown to respect each other, and the sarcastic barbs they'd traded were done primarily in good humor. So when Sam had skipped town, turning in her badge and vanishing without a trace, it had hit the undercover agent hard, though he'd have been loathe to admit it.

"Not so much what he said, as what he didn't. You know Ez."

"Yep, suppose I do." Movement and a low groan from the direction of the bed stopped the conversation the two men were having in its tracks. Samantha's right eye fluttered open, the left side of her face too swollen for her to open her eye more than a slit.

"Hey Vin," she rasped, feeling the skin stretch and split on her lip. "Good to see you... half see you."

Vin knew she was trying to joke, but the attempt at levity fell flat. "How ya feelin'?"

"You know," she choked out, "this is like, the worst hangover ever, without any of the fun of the night before." This time Vin did smile, a little.

"You got the world's worst sense of humor Sammy, anyone ever tell you that?"

"Vin, you are the only guy on the planet outside of my old man I ever let call me Sammy. And yeah, I've heard that a couple of times." She tried to push herself upright on the bed, but the stabbing pain in her hand, and ache in her ribs stopped her short. Instead she just grimaced and readjusted her head on her pillow. "Chris." The greeting was quiet, apprehensive.

"Hunter," the leader of Team 7 nodded. "What the hell happened?"

"I don't know, don't remember much after getting jumped. Bastard got the drop on me." Lie. She remembered everything, when she was conscious anyway. She just didn't remember anything particularly relevant, so why drudge it up?

"Seems I remember a time when that wouldn't have happened," Chris observed mildly. "Used to be better at watching your back."

"Used to have to be," Sam countered testily. "Workin with you boys tended to be hazardous to my health. Bombs, getting shot, presidential assassination attempts, getting shot, falling off cliffs, getting shot."

"You mentioned that one already Sam," Vin reminded her.

"Did I mention how much I hate it?" She questioned. "And look, the very next next time I wind up in a damned hospital it has to do with you."

"Yeah," Chris grunted a little, "well some of you have more of a penchant for it than others." Gray-blue eyes slid between Sam and Vin.

"Why you lookin' at me like that cowboy?" Vin asked dryly.

Chris ignored his sharpshooter. "You get a good look at him? Height, weight, ethnicity? Those things we trained you to look out for?" There was bitterness there, he couldn't help it, and Sam couldn't really even blame him.

"No, I got a crappy look at him, in a parking garage, at night, out of nowhere." Sarcasm dripped from every word. Couldn't really help that either. "I didn't go measuring his facial features under his stocking mask while I was trying to keep him from kicking the ever loving shit out of me." She gingerly touched her face with her left hand. "Fat lot of good that did me."

A short, portly man in a white lab coat whipped in through the door, a nervous nurse at his heels. "What is going on in here?" he demanded, tucking his clipboard beneath his arm.

Chris pulled out his badge, flipping it open. "Federal agents. We need to get a statement."

"Alcohol, tobacco and firearms?" the doctor said dubiously. "Isn't that a little extreme for an assault case?" Chris' jaw flexed as he fixed the doctor with a silent, steely glare. The man in the white coat shifted uneasily. "Right. Well in any case you'll have to come back tomorrow. My patient has been through quite the trauma and needs rest right now. And we have to run some more tests."

Sam grumbled something incomprehensible. "At least tell me you managed to find the chip while I was out," she groused.

"What chip?" The three men in the room chorused.

"The chip," she repeated, receiving three blank stares in return. "The chip, the chip, the microchip," she was starting to get agitated.

Vin and Chris exchanged a look. "How hard exactly did she get hit on the head doc?" Chris asked, only half joking.

The younger woman glared darkly. "Oh Chris, you are hysterical," she deadpanned. "The chip has the message." Chris raised an eyebrow. She wasn't exactly making a ton of sense.

With a roll of her eyes, Sam slowly forced herself to sit upright, thrust back the thin hospital blankets and then hiked up the edge of the her gown, revealing bare skin mottled in several different shades of purple. Vin felt his face growing warm."He used one of those... guns, like you'd use to microchip your dog."

She glanced up, focusing on the Texan. "Aw shit Vin, it's my hip. Don't go gettin' your panties in a twist." At that, Vin's face flamed fully red.

The doctor frowned. "We didn't notice anything strange when we did your physical exam."

"Well would you?" Vin asked. "Those chips ain't hardly bigger than a grain of rice."

"Thought you didn't remember anything," Chris observed mildly.

"I said much, actually, and I do remember that." She looked directly at the doctor then, hoping for nothing more than to circumvent the impending conversation with Chris. "Could you remove it please? Before this thing does something I don't much care for?"

"Uh, sure," the doctor looked back and forth between the two federal agents and the remarkably calm woman lying on the bed. "I'll get some local anesthetic." He and the nurse left.

Samantha eyed Chris warily. "You plannin to arrest me?"

"Don't know," the team leader shrugged. "I got reason to?"

"No, not for a while anyway," she answered truthfully. "I finished my family business and hit the straight like, seven months ago."

"Well good then, guess I got no reason to place you under arrest." The doctor came back into the room, syringe and scalpel at the ready. The nurse wheeled in a suture tray behind him.

"We'll be needing that when you're done," Chris told him. "Evidence."

"Evidence of what?"

"Not really sure yet."

Sensing that was the best answer he was likely to get, the doctor nodded. I'll need you gentlemen to step outside for a moment please."

Vin and Chris complied. "We'll check back with you later Sammy," Vin tossed back over his shoulder. "What do you think cowboy?" Vin asked in a low voice in the hallway.

"Not sure. I'm not convinced this has anything to do with us. Sam's made plenty of enemies in her day. Could just be after her. Then again, so have we. We'll see what JD can make of this chip, go from there."

The doctor came out a few minutes later, a small plastic baggie dangling from his right hand. A tiny, metallic cylinder rested inside, as Vin had said, no bigger than a grain of rice. "Here you go gentlemen," he said, handing the bag to Chris. The two federal agents nodded their thanks and turned to leave. "Just uh, one other thing." Chris and Vin exchanged a look and paused. "Her blood panel came back. Whoever attacked that young woman in there had her pumped full of amphetamines. He wanted her awake, wide awake, through everything. Sick bastard wanted to torture her, and he wanted her to feel it."

--

The bullpen was unusually quiet when Ezra strode in shortly after ten. He'd been driving to the office when Chris had called him. Vin was on his way to the hospital. That single piece of information was enough to leave a cold knot in the southerner's gut, considering how many times any one of them had wound up in the ER. When he'd heard the name of Vin's passenger he'd had to pull the Jag off to the side of the road. Then he'd turned around, finding himself in the hospital parking lot a short while later, raged in an internal debate over whether or not to go inside. Eventually he'd gone with no.

Josiah and Nathan were not to be seen, presumably still questioning the guard at the gate, and looking for leads on the mysterious white van. Buck stood behind JD at his desk, leaning over the younger man's shoulder, staring at the computer screen.

"Needs to be clearer JD," Buck said insistently.

"I'm working on it Buck," JD answered through his teeth. "This isn't a quick process. Video quality in the garage isn't the best to start with, and there's a bunch of pixellation issues to deal with when you're trying to enlarge something like this." The kid was definitely getting irritated.

"Any luck gentlemen?" Ezra asked quietly. Buck jumped nearly a foot.

"Damn it Ez! Don't go sneaking up on a man like that!"

"I did not sneak," Standish sniffed. "You were preoccupied."

Buck turned back to the computer screen, choosing to ignore Ezra's commentary, mostly because he wasn't wrong. "Nothing yet on the van as far as a plate, but it's a late 90's model Chevy. We caught a pretty good look at Sam though. Our girl don't look much better than if she'd been hit by a truck."

Our girl, the words made Ezra stiffen slightly. There had been a time he would not have questioned the familial reference, but that had been a long time ago. "Yes, well... Miss Hunter is now in the care of qualified professionals, I'm sure she'll be fine."

Ezra moved quickly away from the affable federal agent, eager to halt that particular line of conversation. He sat heavily on his chair behind his desk, running both hands through his hair. Ezra was unsure of how long he'd been sitting there when he felt fingertips resting lightly on the base of his neck. Green eyes flicked upward. Vanessa stood, eyes keenly trained on the other two members of Team 7. "You'd think someone died," she muttered quietly, "considering how off center everyone is. We have cases we should be focusing on."

Ezra twisted his head away from her touch, pushing the chair back. "If that is the way you feel then by all means, suggest it to Mr. Larabee. I am sure you will find him extraordinarily receptive to the notion," Ezra snapped. Vanessa pulled back from him, looking like she'd just been struck.

Instantly, Ezra felt guilty. It was an emotion he'd been feeling all too often for his comfort as of late. "Vanessa..." he began quietly, "I apologize." Apologizing, another thing he'd been doing too much of.

"Forget it," she hissed through clenched teeth, eyes sparking furiously.

Vin and Chris' timely arrival saved any further arguing. "JD," Chris barked as he left the elevator. The young computer whiz pushed away from his desk, rolling out into the middle of the bullpen. "Catch." Chris tossed a small, handheld scanner to the younger man.

"Uhh..." JD stared at the machine like it was alien.

"We stopped by the pound," Vin said by way of explanation.

"Because you wanted to get the kid a puppy?" Buck questioned, just as confused as JD.

"Course not," Chris grumbled. "We needed to pick up one of those ID scanners."

"Because you lost a puppy?" Buck asked with a laugh.

"Be serious Buck," Chris chided.

"Well hell Chris I would, if only you'd make a damn bit of sense. What does an ID scanner have to do with Sam's case?"

Vin had been ducking his head to hide a grin. He dug into his coat pocket and retrieved the small baggie that held the microchip. "Doc dug this out of Sammy's leg a couple hours ago," he explained. Recognition dawned on JD's face. Ezra sat straighter in his chair. "Best we can figure, it's some kind of message, but we needed that scanner to read whatever's on it."

"And why didn't you two just spit that out in the first place?" Buck asked, annoyed.

"Cuz pard," Vin told him with a grin, "it's way more fun to watch you guess."

--

It didn't take long for JD to figure out how to use the scanner. It did, however, take a little longer for him to surmise a meaning from the twelve digit string of numbers that popped up on the screen. 543038176679. A message from Samantha's unidentified assailant. JD figured it had to be some sort of numerical code, maybe an anagram with numbers in place of the letters. Code wasn't something they dealt with on the day to day, and JD had no code breaking software on his computer. Soon his desk was covered in paper as he scratched out first one idea, then another.

Vanessa soon realized that all other work in the department was, as of that moment, unofficially on the back burner. It was quite apparent to her that going to Ezra for support was out, and she wasn't quite foolish enough to approach Chris while he was in one of these moods. So instead she opted to help, or at least try to help. Vin and Buck were locked away in Chris' office, and Ezra had somehow conveniently disappeared, so she sauntered over to JD's desk, leaning over his bent shoulder to get a look at the string of numbers.

"Anything?" she asked, her voice its usual low purr.

JD sighed deeply. "Nothing I can get my head around so far," he groused. "I haven't been able to assign letters to the numerals, or find any kind of relevant correlation. But really, this isn't my area of expertise. This guy is tricky."

Vanessa frowned as she looked at the numbers, brow crinkling. The numbers felt familiar somehow, like the answer was lurking just out of reach in her mind. "But maybe he's not," she said suddenly. "Maybe we're assuming this series of numbers is a message, but what if it's just another clue?"

"How do you mean?"

"Forget what you know. When you look at the numbers, is there anything that jumps out at you, like something you ought to see?" Red nails tapped the desktop next to his mouse.

JD shrugged. Hell, why not? He shut his eyes for a minute, clearing his mind of expectations, anagrams and hidden codes. Then he looked down at the paper. "Three, zero, three, area code for Denver, Boulder." He felt his jaw go slack. JD glanced upward at Vanessa, who grinned.

"A phone number," they said together.

The youngest member of Team Seven pushed away from his desk so fast his chair nearly tipped. "Guys!" he called, stumbling over his own feet as he rushed to Chris' office.

--

Less than an hour and a half later, seven men poured out of three vehicles outside the Denver Bus Depot. One uniformed police officer stationed outside the main entrance started to protest, but Chris and the others barged past him. Ezra flashed his badge and a confident smile. "There is a situation inside that mandates our immediate attention, so if you would please, step aside."

The depot's operations manager met them inside. He was an elder gentlemen, what little hair he had left snow white, curling around by his temples. His name badge read Stanley. He moved at an unhurried shuffle, a large ring of keys jingling on his hip. "Locker 540 you said on the phone?"

"No, 543," Vin corrected quickly. Stanley nodded, unhooking the keys from his belt loop.

"Highly unusual, this kind of request," Stanley remarked. "But I talked to my boss and he said go ahead and do what you ask so... uh... this is the key you'll need." He held up a small silver key with a blue top. JD plucked it out of his fingers without another thought, breaking into a jog trot toward the lockers. 543.

JD waited for the others. "Let's just hope this man of ours isn't a joker," Nathan said. "I don't need to be dealing with no injuries from an exploding locker." Six sets of eyes turned on the ex medic. "I'm just saying."

"Let me open it JD," Chris told the younger man. "I'll just, do it... carefully." The other men back away from the locker bank. Chris slid the key into the lock, pressed himself flat to the lockers and pulled it open. Nothing happened. It was more than something of a relief.

Team Seven crowded around the now open locker. Even in the poor light of the depot they could just make out its contents: a DVD, a scalpel, and two bloody fingernails.

--

Chapter 2

Well, hopefully you liked the second installment. Good? bad? Thanks for reading.


	3. The Message

Chapter 3:

A/N: Thank you for the feedback, I really appreciate it. Hope you all continue to enjoy.

Disclaimer: I don't own them, and I'm broke, please don't sue.

--

Seven sets of eyes watched Samantha Hunter stir on screen in low contrast black and white. The picture itself however, was surprisingly clear. Even there, in the beginning of the DVD, she looked beat up. She rolled onto her back slowly, before jolting upright on the cot, hands up and fisted as her head swung wildly from side to side. It took two or three passes with her eyes around the tiny, cinder block room, to assure herself she was alone and lower her guard.

The image of Sam on screen began to check herself over, sliding to the edge of the cot and swinging her feet over. Slick new blood began to sluice down her left shoulder and upper arm and she ripped the thin sheet off the cot and tore it into narrow strips, one of which she bound around her arm to stem the flow of blood. Then she pushed herself to her feet, moving quickly to the door at the edge of the camera frame, steps quick and tense. She held her ear to the door for a moment.

"Why is he showing us this?" JD questioned, quietly, breaking the utter silence that had pervaded the conference room.

"My guess," Chris said, arms crossed over his chest, "is because he can."

The video played on, and Samantha overturned the cot, and proceeded to bash at the framework with her heel. "What the hell is she doing?" JD asked.

"Getting herself in a heap more trouble," Vin commented.

Buck shook his head. "Sometimes that girl has more grit than sense." Vin looked at him sideways, one eyebrow arcing upward. "A lot of the time." He caught Chris' eye next. "Okay, most of the time," Buck amended.

The framework of the cot bent, and soon her handiwork had garnered Samantha a three foot long piece of aluminum piping. She swung it a few times, holding it like a baseball bat, and pressed herself up next to the door.

"She's gonna fight back," JD said in mild wonderment.

"Do you remember Samantha son?" Josiah questioned. " You really thought she wouldn't? Hell hath no fury... especially that woman's fury."

"I get the feeling all she managed is to piss this guy off," Vin muttered.

Samantha didn't have long to wait. The DVD rolled on uneventfully for a minute or two, before the men of Team Seven saw Sam tense, readjusting her grip of the pole. The heavy steel door swung inward. Dressed in dark colors and donning a stocking mask, Samantha's assailant stepped inside her cell. She was ready.

The aluminum bar found its mark, striking cleanly across the man's exposed midsection. He doubled over, clutching his stomach, and Sam drew back to hit him again. But this time the man was ready, catching the pole as it sailed toward his face. Sam let go without a fight, instead grabbing the back of the man's shirt, pulling him downward as she slammed her knee repeatedly into his chest. Briefly, he fell to one knee, before charging forward, thick arms wrapping around Sam's waist. He slammed her bodily into the wall, and she drove an elbow into his back.

The men of Team Seven found themselves tense, pitched forward in their chairs, as if somehow, some way, this Samantha on screen could fight her way free.

As his grip slackened, Sam wrenched herself free. She pushed him back, already moving toward the still open door. But she didn't make it. His hand snaked out, latching onto her ankle and Samantha crashed to the floor. The man scrambled to his feet, practically crawling over the top of her. He couldn't let her escape. He reached the door, sped out, and Sam lunged after him, wrapping her right hand around the edge of the door. Then he slammed it shut. Despite there being no sound, it was obvious to all seven as Sam's face contorted and she cried out in pain.

Nathan winced. "That explains the broken fingers," he observed.

Samantha wrenched her hand out of the doorway as it cracked open once more, clutching her hand close to her body. The door crept slowly open, and her kidnapper came back inside. Yet this time there was no fight in Sam's eyes, only pain, and fear. She had lost her one, best shot to get out, and she knew it. She backed away from him, but she only had so far to go. She tried to block him, continued to fight back when it was painfully obvious she'd already lost, but it was no use.

He hit her, hard, and kept at it. At one point he grasped the base of her neck, thrusting her face into the wall. Sam slid bonelessly to the ground, her fluttering eyes the only sign she was still conscious. Then he kicked her ribs, brutally, mercilessly. "And the ribs," Buck offered. It became difficult not to look away. When Sam had been reduced to little more than a barely breathing, bloody mass on the ground, he grabbed a large hunk of hair, and dragged her out of the cell, and out of camera range. But the camera kept rolling. A voice, electronically altered, piped in.

"Chris Larabee, you and your men have been chosen for judgement. You work for a morally corrupt government, their best of the best. So I seek to prove my worthiness. God has shown me my righteous path. First I destroy the agents of this evil, and then I destroy sin itself. You shall wallow in your living nightmares, Pray for redemption from your Lord in death, it is the only chance you have left." Then the screen went dark.

--

The next day, six of the eight members of Team Seven walked purposefully through the halls of Swedish Medical. The two nurses stationed at the desk on the fourth floor looked more than a little overwhelmed at their presence. "We're here to see Samantha Hunter," Chris informed them gruffly, already marching down the hall by the time they gathered themselves to protest.

"Gentlemen," one of the nurses jumped out of her chair, "I'm sorry but we only allow two visitors at a time..."

Buck pulled out his badge. "Official business," he told her, dark eyes raking quickly over the woman's ample curves. She blushed, from the flourish of the badge or his gaze... he wasn't quite sure. Oh well, time enough to find out later. He grinned to her, touched two fingers to his forehead and followed his friends.

Samantha had been waiting for them, she knew they would come. "So I get the whole crew this time," she said tiredly. "Well," she corrected herself, "almost the whole crew." She wasn't surprised.

Buck and JD came in first, and she watched as a barely restrained cloud of anger crossed Buck's face. JD's eyes went wide. "God Sam, you look awful," he blurted out.

"Gee thanks JD," she responded dryly, one corner of her lip curling into a half smile, the most she could manage without significant pain. Good old JD, always one to be counted on to speak his mind, and not necessarily after contemplating what he was saying. Buck cuffed the back of his head. Sam chuckled, then stopped, holding her breath, hand creeping across her torso to hold her ribs. "Damn it you two, don't make me laugh."

Nathan edged his way past Buck, grabbing her chart off the foot of the bed. Dark eyes flicked over the first page. "Doctors find any complications with the broken ribs?"

Sam breathed through the stabbing pain, opening one eye into a slit. "Not so far as they've mentioned."

"And your pain level?" The ex medic asked, his voice calm and reassuring, just like she remembered it.

"Fine," she answered with a small shrug, "till I move. I sleep a lot. Docs say it's the concussion. Just can't help yourself, can you Nathan?"

He grinned. "Don't rightly think so. I'll be back." With that he slipped back out of the room, presumably to go find the on duty doctor and discuss her case.

"Where'd the duffel come from pard?" Vin asked, nudging the small black bag sitting at the edge of her bed with his toe.

"Mary brought it by..." she trailed off. Whoops. Hadn't meant to let that one slip out. "earlier," she finished lamely.

"Mary?" Chris repeated cooly, though she was almost sure she'd seen surprise flit briefly across his face. "Didn't realize you two had kept in touch."

Damn, but it was impossible to lie to that man. Nothing in Chris' tone was forceful, or even accusatory, but it always felt like he was testing you. Like he could see right through any omission of truth. Those damn gray eyes just burned it out of you. "Yeah," she answered, suddenly feeling very small. "Since I moved back. Her and Inez, actually."

"And how long ago did you come back exactly? And where to?" Buck queried.

Sam made a face. "Colorado Springs like... six months ago," she mumbled lowly.

"Six months?" Buck exclaimed incredulously. "Lordy girl, and they knew the whole time?"

"I asked them not to say anything," she explained quickly. Pissed at her was one thing, pissed at Mary and Inez on her behalf just didn't sit right. "I didn't... I didn't know how..." she locked her teeth down with a snap, muscles in her jaw working. She couldn't look at them. This, of all the scenarios that had played out in her head about running into the Seven again, had not been high on her preferable list.

Silence stretched on interminably, though in reality it was probably less than a minute. "Regardless," Larabee's voice broke in, "you're here now. That microchip in your leg led us to the Denver Bus Depot, to a locker. There was a DVD, and a scalpel. Guys a whack job, says he's after all of us. We need to stop him. Hunter I know you remember more than you told Vin and me the other day. I want to know everything, even if you don't think it's important, and I want to know it now."

There would be no arguments, no omissions this time. So the tale came, slowly at first, then ever more rapidly. Everything, every cut, every sound, the angle of the sun through every window she could remember. "... He had me tied, chained... from the ceiling, in a big, open floor." She shut her eyes, willing forth the memory. But her brain felt addled, exhaustion crept in on her. "And there was this sound... like... tires over train tracks. But he never talked, and he never took off that damn mask."

Chris leaned closer to Vin, muttering something in the sharpshooter's ear. Vin nodded quickly. "JD, you're with me. We're gonna go check out a lead," Chris informed the others. "We still may have questions for you Hunter. Don't go disappearing on us yet."

"Not a chance," she grunted.

JD paused at the door. He had to ask. "Hey, Sam?"

"I didn't tell Casey kid. She's got enough on her plate with school, working and you. I didn't want her to feel like she was lying to you." The youngest member of the Team nodded, then followed Chris out and Sam was left with Buck, Vin and Josiah.

"What was on the DVD?"

"Oh, just about six or seven minutes of watchin you scrap it out like two rabid pit bulls in a dog fight," Buck told her.

"You had him whipped Sam, till you got your hand caught up," Vin agreed soberly.

"Yeah well, don't think he was expecting for me to fight back like I did." She couldn't look at the sharpshooter. She knew what she'd find there, disappointment, hurt.

Josiah broke in then, adding his own pearls of wisdom. "It's like they say. Sometimes it's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog."

"Josiah," Sam said slowly, a thin smile playing across her lips, "you just call me a bitch?"

"Uh...well..." the ex preacher stammered.

"Well if the shoe fits darlin," Buck interjected with a laugh.

Sam nodded, eyes drifting shut. "Aww, missed you too Buck. But hell, never said he was wrong."

Buck looked at the others and jerked his chin toward the door. "You should get some rest Sam. We'll go collect Nathan, come let you know what's up as we figure it out."

Josiah and Buck filtered out into the hallway, but Sam caught hold of Vin's wrist before he could leave. He stopped. "Vin."

"You coulda dropped a line Sam. Called."

"I know. And I tried. You don't even know how many times I picked up the phone and dialed your number. I just... never hit send. And then I just stopped. I'm really sorry."

"I know that too. Don't worry about it right now. Rest, get better, and we'll have plenty of time to work on gettin' back to good." Samantha nodded sleepily, at least mild reassured, and released his wrist. She was asleep before he got ten feet.

--

"The Central Platt Valley Train system," JD announced to the others the next day. "Best as I can figure it, he had her holed up somewhere in that network of rail systems. Back in the early part of the twentieth century it served as a network for a bunch of warehouses and packing plants outside of Denver. Most of the lines are shut down now."

Chris shook his head. "I don't know JD, we're talking about a section of the city that includes Eliches, the Pepsi Center and the Denver Children's Museum. It's not exactly a low traffic area."

"True, but there are still plenty of abandoned buildings still standing. And what's better than to hide in plain sight? Lots of traffic, who's gonna notice one van, or one guy?"

"Okay, find me some possible sites and we'll get together with the Denver PD and check 'em out." Chris looked around, brow furrowing. "And where the hell is Ezra?"

--

Ezra Standish stepped through the double swinging doors into the wide hallway of the fourth floor of Swedish Medical. Anxiety clawed at his chest as he approached the nurse's station. What the hell was he doing here? He hated hospitals, had spent far too much time in them, both as patient and friend. The glaring fluorescent light, the soft click of shoes on linoleum, the lingering smell of antiseptic and sickness. Ezra's stomach turned and his feet stopped their steady march.

"Sir?" A middle aged woman whose rich chocolate hair was streaked in silver thread had stopped in front of him. She watched him carefully, this man with the intense green eyes with a pallor on his face to match. "Sir?" She reached out and touched his arm gently. He started, blinked, and then looked at her. "Are you here to see someone sir?"

"Oh, yes, yes I am." Ezra collected himself, smoothing out some invisible wrinkle on the front of his suit. "I am here to see Samantha Hunter. Could you please direct me to her current accommodations?"

"Sure, she's just down the hall, take a right past the nurse's station. It's 478." Ezra nodded a thanks and started down the hall. "You're in luck you know," the nurse called after him, "another half hour and you'd have missed her."

"Excuse me?" Ezra paused.

"She signed herself out AMA, against medical advice," she explained. "They're just processing her discharge papers."

"Really? How... interesting."

In her room, Samantha moved slowly about the business of packing her few meager belongings into her borrowed black duffel bag. She slid the novel Mary had leant her inside, and withdrew a clean T-shirt. She traded the hospital gown for it, gritting her teeth as she lifted her arms over her head to draw it on. The shirt was gray, same as the borrowed sweatpants that hung loosely off her hips. One should not underestimate a forced diet of torture and hospital food. Then she pulled on her running shoes, the only piece of her original clothing that had not been relegated to the dumpster.

"Leaving so soon?" the lilt of the man's words did nothing to detract from the dryness of his delivery.

Sam froze, hands clenching reflexively over the handles of the bag. She knew this would be coming, sooner or later. She had just hoped for later. "Hey Ez."

"Hey Ez? Come now Hunter, surely you can come up with something more original. Especially considering the surreptitious manner of your forthcoming departure."

Sam zipped the top of the duffel shut with a sigh. "I told Chris what I know. Hospital has my address and phone number, he can reach me if he needs to."

"I suppose this time we should be thankful you've seen fit to enlighten us with a forwarding residence." The words came sharp and quick, and more bitter than he'd expected.

"I just want to go home," she responded quietly, heavily. Sam turned slowly to face the southerner. The swelling on her face had gone down, but the bruises were becoming a kaleidoscope of purple, blue, green and yellow. Horror and sadness licked at his chest, but he pushed it down.

He didn't want to feel for her. For now, he just needed to be angry. And in some odd way, he wanted her to be angry too. They'd always fought, they had been good at it. And for some reason, fighting seemed easier than... almost anything else. "You're signing out against medical advice," he reminded her. "Perhaps those employed in the medical profession have a better idea than you when that would be prudent."

"Physically? Sure. Financially, I doubt it. Bottom line, I can't afford to stay her any longer. Besides, I'm pretty sure I can be bruised and broken in my own bed as well as I can in this one."

"Plus there is that added benefit of being on your own, not accountable to anyone else."

"Damn Ezra, you ever consider a career in law?" she finally snapped at him. "You'd have been good at it. You really like arguing your own particular vision of the truth."

"And you would have made a fine agent," he scoffed. "I guess we both missed our calling."

"Right!" she exclaimed. "Now I remember."

"Remember what, pray tell?"

"Why exactly I have felt the need to slap you every day since I met you," she growled.

Both she and Ezra had their backs up now, and they each squared their shoulders and faced the other, insults beginning to fly.

"You insufferable..."

"... self righteous..."

"...loathsome creature of..."

"... son of a..."

"... reprobate..."

"...ass..."

Their voices rose to a fevered pitch. The middle aged nurse that Ezra had run into in the hallway walked into the room pushing a wheelchair. Her eyes flew wide as she took in the scene. "Hey," she called out. Neither Samantha nor Ezra took any notice.

"HEY!" the nurse bellowed. The feuding pair quieted abruptly. They both appeared surprised that there was another person in the room. "We've got other patients on this floor," she scolded them sternly, "ones that are trying to rest and recuperate." Samantha's face flooded red and Ezra had the good grace to look mildly sheepish. "Thank you. Now, Ms. Hunter, you are all set to go."

"What's with the wheelchair?" Samantha asked.

"You. I'll be escorting you downstairs and out of the hospital."

"I don't need a wheelchair," Samantha protested, "I can walk."

"Sorry Ms. Hunter, hospital policy. You don't leave unless your butt is seated." At this point the woman just sounded frustrated.

"I would be happy to escort Ms. Hunter downstairs," Ezra offered with a wide smile. "I'm sure you have other, more, important matters to attend."

"Really, that's...unnecessary," Sam said dryly.

"No, no," Ezra persisted, "I insist." He reached out and took the nurse's hand in a firm shake. "Thank you, for all your service." The nurse looked at Ezra sideways for a long moment before shrugging and leaving the room.

Hands on her hips Samantha questioned in a hiss, "Did you just slip her a twenty?"

Ezra shrugged, taking up position behind the wheelchair. "A fifty seemed like overkill," he explained. Sam shook her head a little. "Now Hunter," he motioned to the chair, "hospital policy and all."

Sam mumbled something he couldn't quite make out. Then she slowly hefted the duffel across her right shoulder, holding her ribs protectively with her left hand. The grimace crossed her face before she could control it.

Ezra rolled his eyes and left the chair. "You're positively ridiculous," he muttered, taking the bag off her shoulder. "You can barely move."

"I'm fine," Sam protested between locked down teeth.

"Of course you are. Get in the chair." Grudgingly, she obeyed, shuffling painfully across the room.

"You're enjoying this way too much," She grumbled, lowering herself slowly down into her seat.

"I admit, there is certain entertainment value to the situation."

Samantha remained petulantly silent as they rolled through the halls. It was only after they'd ridden down an elevator, which opened into the hospital's parking garage, that she noticed something was amiss.

"Hey Ezra, this is not the hospital front entrance. The cab is meeting me out there."

"I'm sure it is, and were you going to be taking a taxi that is where we would be presently headed. But you are not, so we are not."

"Okay then, so you gonna fill me on the plan? Or do I just get to guess?"

Ezra let out a pained sigh. "I see your powers of deduction have been hampered by your recent trauma, so I'll forgive you." She looked at him blankly. "I'm taking you in my car," he explained.

"But why?" she asked, genuinely confused.

Ezra stopped the chair in front of his two door Jag. He opened her door, threw her bag in back and waved a hand for her to enter. "Because you're not taking a cab," he said. Sam immediately got the sense that that was the best explanation she was likely to receive, so she let it go, and slid slowly into the passenger seat.

They spent most of the two hour drive in excruciating silence, save for the occasional moment Ezra asked for directions. He wove the Jag through the city, past a number of neighborhoods and apartment complexes. "Down there," Sam said, pointing to a narrow alley way on their right. "You can park over there," she told him, indicating a handful of parking spots with a reserved sign above them.

Ezra complied, placing the sports car in park and turning off the engine. "Is this neighborhood uh... safe?" He asked, taking in the surrounding buildings faded and peeling paint and the few less than affluent people wandering the street.

"Your car is fine Ez, but it's not like you have to come up. You got me here, you did your service for the day."

He considered it, briefly, before kicking aside the notion of just dropping her outside her front step. Something just felt... off. He didn't know why. It was the same feeling that had led him to drive her back here in the first place, the feeling that had him wishing she'd just stayed in Denver. The feeling that it just couldn't be as simple as all that. And though Ezra was many things, he was not a man to ignore his instincts. He removed the keys from the ignition.

The southerner hopped easily out of the vehicle, taking in his surroundings. The three story building in front of him was badly in need of a paint job, a color that might have once been a light green fading and peeling away from the walls. Chain link fencing four feet high enclosed a small grass and weed infested lawn. Wild looking bushes gathered in a clump in the shadow of a small porch.

A narrow set of stairs ran up the side of the building, which Sam headed towards. "I'm the second floor," she informed him. Ezra quirked an eyebrow, then grabbed the duffel and followed the slow moving Sam. Before she could take the first step however, Ezra grabbed her arm and shook his head.

"Let me go first," he said. Handing her the duffel bag, he reached into his suit coat and retrieved his gun from its holster.

"This is why you brought me," she said in realization. "You've got to be kidding."

"Can't be too careful."

Sam sighed. "Now who's being ridiculous?" She followed him up the flight of steps, using the hand rail for support.

At the top of the flight Ezra paused, holding his left hand out behind him. "Give me your keys."

"I don't have keys," she replied. "They were with my car keys and God knows where those are. There's a spare under the flower pot." She pointed to a large earthenware pot filled with dirt and a decrepit withered plant.

Ezra stooped and tipped the pot, retrieving the key from beneath it. "Crack security system you have here Hunter." She ignored him as he slid the key into the lock. The door stuck, like it always did, and Sam gave the bottom corner a firm kick with her toe. It swung inward.

Ezra slid past her into the apartment, movements suddenly tense and aware. Green eyes flicked in every direction. Nothing stirred. Samantha followed him with a roll of her eyes and shut the door behind them, dropping the bag just inside the threshold. Suddenly she felt incredibly tired.

"Satisfied?" she asked. "No one jumping out from the shadows."

Ezra holstered his weapon, though the feeling of unease still lingered. Instead he began to take in his surroundings, meager, but homey. A beat up leather couch rested in one corner of the living area, and beside it a similarly beat up barcalounger. A small TV sat on a low stand next to a fireplace. In the kitchen, a few dishes rested beside the sink. "Do I smell," Ezra's nose crinkled, "curry?"

"Yeah," Sam bit down on her lip as she wrestled with the window above the sink. "We're next door to a Thai takeout place," she explained. Sam moved haltingly to the sliding glass patio doors, and slid them open as well. "You get used to it," she said before heading outside, leaning her elbows over the worn wood railing. "You can get used to a lot," she murmured to herself, not intending for Ezra to overhear.

Ezra continued with his meandering observations of the apartment. A warm peachy beige colored the walls. Two large black and white photos of a band of wild horses adorned the East and West walls. On one end of the couch a large pile of blankets had been flung haphazardly. Books teetered in stacks on nearly every available surface. He had to admit, the place felt like Samantha.

Ezra then proceeded down a short, narrow hallway, opening each closed door in turn. One led into an overly blue bathroom, the second a small linen closet and the third the utility room that housed the hot water heater. The door at the end was obviously the bedroom, and he paused briefly before twisting the handle and letting the door swing wide. The soft click was loud as a gunshot in his mind.

There, sitting directly in the center of a queen bed, a digital timer flared to life. His brain barely had time to register the small stack of explosives next to it before the glaring red lights began counting down from ten. Ezra whirled, sprinting back down the hall. "Hunter!" He bellowed, arms and legs pumping. "Hunter!" He reached the living area and headed for the still open patio door.

Sam had started to turn and come inside at his call, but the look on the Southerner's face stopped her cold. Ezra's pace never slowed. He plowed through the doorway, wrapped his arms around Sam's waist and kept going. Behind him Ezra could hear a great intake of air, like the roar of some angry wild thing. The wood railing splintered and buckled as they struck it and they sailed outward into nothingness, and the apartment burst into flames.

--

Chapter 3

Hey there guys, hope you liked this latest installment. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!


	4. Flame and Shadow

Chapter 4:

A/N: Hey guys, thanks for reading, I love the feedback. I forgot how much I love all these characters, then I bought both seasons on DVD and well.... I'm writing again.

Disclaimer: Thanks to Mog and other for making ATF, and I own only those I created in my own weird, twisted little mind.

__

Heat seared the back of his neck, the sound of flames crackling overhead. Windows broke in the sweltering heat, boards cracked and through it all the fired roared with anger, like it lived, like it breathed. Flaming debris showered around them, lighting whatever tinder it could find in the grass before sputtering out.

All the air had rushed from Ezra's lungs as they'd struck the ground, and now he struggled to breathe. Pain flared in his left shoulder, his bad shoulder, and he knew instantly that he's dislocated it once again. It was a nuisance more than anything now, a lingering reminder of his first assignment with the illustrious and infamous Team Seven, but it still hurt like a bitch to put back. And at present it remained pinned beneath one Samantha Hunter.

"Hunter?" he ventured. She didn't move, face still and tight, eyes locked down. Fear licked at the edge oh his mind. "Sam?"

Hazel eyes fluttered open and she groaned. Ezra sighed relievedly. "Can you move?" Lips thin, Samantha shook her head tightly. "Can you breathe all right?" Another head shake. More fear, maybe a twinge of panic. "What's wrong?"

"You're crushing me," she managed a raspy whisper. She thwacked him feebly in the chest. "Get off." Concern rushed away like a tide, replaced by irritation. Frowning, Ezra carefully propped himself up with his good hand, allowing Sam to slide out from beneath him. Once clear, she curled up on her side as a coughing fit racked her body. It brought tears to her eyes. Ezra eased himself slowly onto his back, bracing his injured arm with his good one.

Another flaming piece of debris his the ground next to his left ear. The fire licked up the side of the building now, dark smoke billowing overhead. Far away, he thought her heard sirens. He glanced over at Samantha, face contorted in pain, eyes squeezed shut as she focused on taking long, slow breaths. "I believe it would be prudent to relocate from the immediate vicinity."

One hazel eye opened. "Okay," she bit out. "You first."

Ezra rose, the adrenaline still coursing through his body making his muscles quiver. Left arm dangling limp and useless at his side, he offered Samantha his right. She took it and he helped ease her off the ground. She bit back a whimper, broken ribs screaming out in protest of the treatment they'd just received. She leaned heavily on Ezra as they limped out of the yard and away from the inferno. "You're bleeding," Ezra observed, hoping the alarm he felt didn't translate into his words.

"Yeah, I'd noticed." Blood seeped into the fabric of her shirt, the stain widening by the moment. Her arm was dashed with it as well, rolling over her bicep to drip off her fingers. "Stitches ripped," she explained, "I felt them go." They stopped at Ezra's Jag, both leaning heavily upon the frame, pain bringing sweat to their brows. Pain twisted the southerner's visage, and his face looked bloodless.

"Forgive me a moment," Ezra excused himself, walking swiftly toward the nearest adjacent building. God but this would hurt. Gritting his teeth and steeling himself, Ezra swung his left forward shoulder forward into the brick corner. Bone ground and tendons stretched and out of his mouth he emitted a strangled cry, knees nearly buckling beneath him, till his shoulder suddenly shot back into place with a loud pop. When the rushing blood ceased to pound in his ears, and his heart slowed back to near normal, he tested his shoulder by rolling it slowly back. It still ached, but it was a deep, hollow pain, far preferable to the sharp jolt of agony he'd been feeling with even the slightest jar. As he walked back to Samantha and the car, color began to flood back into his cheeks.

A few minutes later, a long red fire truck rumbled into view farther down the alley. An ambulance and two police cars followed not far behind. Samantha quirked an eyebrow. "You want to try to explain this or should I?"

As if on cue the cell phone in Ezra's jacket pocket sprang to life, vibrating insistently. Ezra fished it out with his right hand and gave a small sigh. "Chris," he informed her flatly. "You want to try and explain this or should I?"

Samantha snorted and held up her hands. "Forget it he's all yours. I'll take Colorado's finest."

Half an hour later Samantha and Ezra had switched roles. Sam held Ezra's cell phone cradled to her ear while she lifted her right arm up over her head, letting a somewhat aggravated paramedic bandage the newly reopened gash in her side. Ezra stood over with two of Colorado Springs' uniformed patrol officers, explaining, and not for the first time, the situation.

Chris' yelling had dulled in her ear, so much so that her occasional 'yep' or 'uh huh' barely slowed his tirade. But hell, at least Chris wasn't an idiot. When the police had first arrived Samantha had opted to explain everything to them, rather than a ticked off Chris Larabee. It had, at the time, seemed like the safer option.

Unfortunately, the two uniformed officers had chosen to run Ezra and her names through the police database. For obvious reasons, Samantha's colorful record, more than a few pages in length, had sent up warning bells with the two officers. That however, was far less irritating than the blank stares she'd received upon explaining herself. And when one of them had tried to handcuff her, she came unglued.

She had backed away from the silver shackles the moment the officer removed them from his belt, hackles raised. "Are you serious?" she'd yelled. "Why in hell would I want to set a bomb in my own apartment and then blow it... with me inside!" A fair amount of yelling had ensued after that, and finally Ezra had intervened just in time to keep her from decking one, or both of them. He'd quietly stepped in front of her, pressing his still open cell phone into her hand and presented his badge with a flourish.

"...and how in the hell you manage to get yourself into these situations in the first place!" Sam pulled the phone away from her ear as Chris bellowed.

"Like I told you before Chris, it's part and parcel with the package when I get around you and yours. Bombs, cliffs, they were on my list." It was much easier to be flippant and sarcastic with Team 7's leader when they were separated by many, many miles.

"You didn't fall off a cliff Hunter," Chris reminded her dryly, "it was a second story porch."

"I still fell. It counts."

She heard something between a muffled sigh and a growl through the line. "Put Ezra back on the phone Hunter," he ordered. "Never thought I'd say this but he's less... he's less you." Agreeably, Sam slid off the tailgate of the ambulance and moved warily to stand behind Ezra, holding the phone out for him. She kept one eye on the beat cops.

The undercover agent took the phone, and Sam suddenly wished she could hear both sides of the conversation. "Yes Mr. Larabee, the situation is well in hand... No... no that's unnecessary. Of course. I'll have them fax over the report." He glanced down at his wristwatch, only to find the face mangled and no longer operable. "A few hours.... The hospital more than likely... Certainly."

He flipped the phone shut, putting it back in his breast pocket. "After we are finished getting you stitched up, Mr. Larabee requests your presence."

Crossing her arms, Samantha quirked an eyebrow. "Requests?" Ezra just shrugged and flashed her a sly grin.

--

Elevator doors slid open and the undercover agent, and former agent stepped out into the short hall that led to the bullpen. Samantha took three steps and then stopped suddenly, every instinct alive in her bones screaming for her to backpedal. Only Ezra's hand at her back kept her moving forward.

The bullpen, thankfully empty, save for one dark haired woman bent over the Team's ever cantankerous copy machine, was exactly as she remembered. And that hurt. What could have been, would have been, should have been... so many good memories, and a place of such regret.

The desks were even as she remembered them, placed back to back, two by two. Nathan and Josiah's on the west wall, beside the ceiling high glass windows. She could even see Nathan's trusty traveling first aid kit tucked neatly beneath the desk, the tops of both neat and organized. Their desks were a study in contrasts to Buck and JD's, situated near the middle of the bullpen, directly across from Chris' office, where he could keep an eye on his two biggest troublemakers. From personal experience Samantha knew Buck and JD held no shortage of junk food and joke items in the bowels of their work station.

Ezra steered her toward the last set of desks, his and Vin's. "Stay," he commanded, pointing at his chair.

"Still not a dog Standish," Sam snipped at his receding back. The southerner ignored her.

Sam slid a finger over Ezra's side of the desks. It was meticulously clean, the old wood shining like it had just been polished, his computer screen dusted and left covered. While at the same time, Vin's side looked like it had been struck by a tornado. Organized chaos, the sharpshooter had called it once. Papers lay in teetering piles across the surface of the desk, dripping dangerously over the edge. Beneath one pile lay Vin's pocket dictionary. In between the sharpshooter's computer screen and his keyboard was propped an old rubber chicken, whose head had been wrapped in some scrap material to look like a bandana and held in its hands a ballpoint pen. A sticky note on the toy's stomach read, 'Do you feel pretty?'

Sam couldn't help herself, she laughed, a deep belly laugh that brought all kinds of aches and shooting pain. Her fingers bit deep into the bare flesh of her arm as she forced herself to stop. With a sigh she perched herself on the corner of Ezra's work station, and her eyes drifted again. The last desk. Her desk. Was, her desk. Past tense and pre history. Someone had adorned it with a small plant with red flowers, and Sam shook her head. She had the largest black thumb known to man.

Glancing back over her shoulder, Sam started when she saw the woman futzing with the copier had come to stand closer, dark eyes raking her up and down scrutinizingly.

"So you're the one," she announced flatly, and Sam got the impression the woman was trying to control her upper lip from curling into a sneer.

"Uh, sure. We'll go with that theory. Can I help you?" Sam asked, like she still could, like she still belonged. She could have kicked herself.

"Agent Vanessa Navarro," the dark haired woman introduced herself. "So no, I don't think you can."

A light of understanding dawned on Samantha's face. The eighth. Mary had mentioned her father in law's insistence that Larabee's team continue to function with eight members after her departure. Strange, she had never pictured a woman, and she was almost certain Mary hadn't mentioned it. "Ohhhh, so you're the new me," Sam forced a grin.

She had been going for levity. Vanessa's eyes raked over her once more, and she let out a short, mocking laugh. "Dear God I hope not." This time she did sneer. Levity, apparently, had fallen flat.

Samantha's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. Vanessa was a little... intense. "Look," Sam held her hands up defensively, "it was a joke. It's not like I want my job back. I'm just here because..."

"Good," Navarro snapped, interrupting her. "Because you don't belong here anymore, and I seriously doubt if you ever really did."

Biting down on the inside of her cheek, Samantha silently counted to ten, but it was useless, her back was up. She slid slowly off the desk till she stood toe to toe with the other woman, though Vanessa easily had three or four inches on her in height, even before the heels. Covered in bruises and barely healing stitches Sam imagined she could hardly be described as intimidating, but she was past caring. "All right look, you freakish Amazonian, I don't know you from Adam and frankly after this last week I could give a damn, but you're gettin' on my very last nerve. You always this much of a bitch? Or are you just plain chock full of crazy? Because either way you've intruded on my own personal space bubble and I suggest you back up, quickly."

Vanessa smiled, leering and predatory, dark eyes sparking. But just then her gaze flicked away and Vanessa took a large step backward, the hostility Sam had felt only moments earlier melting away from her face and stance. "Ezra," the female agent's voice practically dripped concern. "Are you all right? I heard what happened in the Springs. Thank God you got out of there." There was something in the way she looked at the southerner, there was honest concern there, and something Sam couldn't quite place.

"The days events have left no lingering affliction on my person, other than a few bruises. We were fortunate enough that our contemptuous villain saw fit to place a delay on his device." He spoke to Vanessa, but his gaze remained riveted on Sam. The copper haired woman had not so much as twitched a muscle, hazel eyes locked down hard on Vanessa, hands clenched at her sides. "Hunter, Mr. Larabee requests your presence in his office post haste."

Sam blinked and turned slowly to look at the southerner. "I love that you keep saying request like I have a choice."

"Well, I do feel it's important for one to retain at least the appearance of a modicum of free will." He grinned, "Even if it is little better than illusion."

Samantha could only chuckle and shake her head. "You're such an ass." She ducked past his shoulder, moving haltingly toward Larabee's office.

Ezra and Vanessa followed behind. Six sets of eyes turned to watch her as she entered. Nathan scanned her up and down from his seat in the middle of the room. She knew he was trying to assess her physical well being, while the sage wisdom that was Josiah looked more to her mental well being. These men knew her well enough to read her, and Samantha resolutely schooled her features into neutrality. JD looked just as horrified as he had at the hospital, probably because she looked almost as bad, and hell maybe even a little worse than before. Buck smiled encouragingly. Vin she couldn't read, and it irked her, because she'd always been able to before. Chris' blue-grey eyes read stern, but that was about normal. "Sit," the team leader directed. It wasn't a request.

As quickly as she could manage, Samantha commandeered a chair, settling herself down heavily. "You're still breathing," the team leader observed. "Good." Then he turned his attentions to the rest of his team. "The Denver PD has spent most of the last two days scouring the area in and around the Central Platt Valley Rail System," Chris informed them. "They haven't found anything useful. JD, what about you?"

JD shrugged and shook his head. "Sorry Chris, without more to go on I'm pretty much stumped. Sam, you sure there's nothing else you remember?"

She sighed, eyes drifting shut. It came at her like a torrent, drowning her senses, the cold, the smell of burning flesh... Her eyes flew open and she thought she might be sick. Biting down hard on the inside of her cheek she managed a tight shake of her head. Vin and Ezra were looking at her sideways, like they knew there was more. She didn't dare meet their gaze.

"What about the van?" Chris asked Josiah.

"Found," the profiler answered. "Abandoned south of Alameda. It was stolen out of New Mexico three weeks ago, plates were outdated."

"No fingerprints, no hair," Nathan interjected. "Totally wiped clean. Just another dead end."

"Well now that presents a problem," Chris went on, folding his arms across his chest and leaning back on his desk. "The brass upstairs isn't too happy. They feel this is a case best left to the Denver locals, mostly because they're not convinced this has anything to do with us." Sam opened her mouth to protest, but Chris stalled her with a hand. "Personally I don't agree, but with no leads we're stuck, and we've been assigned a new case." A rippling murmur of dissent moved through the assembled group of men. "So right now," Chris said, turning back toward Sam, "we need to figure out what to do with you."

"Excuse me? I was just planning to go home, what do you mean 'do with me?'"

"Home?" Ezra repeated in a slow drawl. "Are you referring to that still smoldering pile of ash and rubble you used to call an apartment? Charming."

"Or, I don't know, stay with Mary or something for a few days till I get things sorted."

"Forget it," Chris cut in, shaking his head, face serious. "This guy didn't mean for you to walk away from that explosion. Far as I'm concerned you're still a target. We don't need Mary involved in this, so we've been talking, and you're gonna stay with one of us till we catch him." Sam's stomach sank like it was made of lead. "Nathan was my first choice but..."

The ex medic looked sheepish. "Some of my pipes burst over the winter, and now I have an apparent mold problem, to go along with the old pipe problem. So at the moment my house is gutted, and not real terrible fit for someone in recuperation. I'm staying with Rain down in Longmont myself."

"Vin is obviously out," the team leader went on. "Stayin in Purgatorio you may as well paint a bulls-eye on your forehead." Sam nodded agreeably at the explanation, though secretly she wondered if Vin had simply begged off. "Buck and JD offered but..."

At that Sam could do nothing to suppress an indignant snort. "Forget it. I just got out of ICU, I don't need to be spending time in the CDC," she said, referring to what the others occasionally called Buck and JD's two bedroom apartment. "Besides, last time I was there I'm pretty sure I got Buck into trouble. Called some blonde by the wrong name and she got all huffy."

"Actually I think you called her Tuesday blonde," JD reminded her. "As opposed to, you know, Thursday blonde." He smirked and the others laughed.

Sam merely shrugged. "Hey, it was early, and she was clearly in the way of the coffee machine. Couldn't be helped."

"You know," Buck mused idly, fingering his mustache, "I'd forgotten about that. What was her name?"

"Does it matter?" Ezra asked dryly.

"My ranch is too far out in the middle of nowhere," Chris continued, knowing if he let the others pick up a head of steam they'd never get anywhere. "I'm not keen on leaving you without anyone else around."

"In other words, Chris is worried you're gonna get yourself into trouble with the horses with no one around to supervise," Buck smirked.

"Hey," Samantha craned her neck to look at Buck squarely. "It was just the one time."

Tilting his head back Buck laughed heartily. JD and snickered and Vin quickly his his grin behind his palm. "You talkin' about the time you forgot to latch Chaucer's second lock and that damnable horse let out Chris' whole herd?"

"Horse shoulda been named Houdini," Sam griped.

"Now, now, let's not tarnish my faithful equine's reputation here shall we? Just because you can't lock a gate," Ezra scolded.

Then JD jumped in first. "Or what about the time you wound up with a concussion after you came off Tap out on that trail ride? Took Chris and Vin like, three hours to find you."

"That freakin horse ran me into that tree on purpose." This time, even Nathan chuckled.

"Or the time you turned on the manure spreader when Ezra was right behind it?" Vin offered. Sam didn't say anything, just bit down on her lower lip as it curled up in a grin.

Ezra's jaw dropped. "Degenerate! I knew you did that on purpose!"

Sam held up her hands, knowing she was defeated. "Okay! All right! I give, no ranch." Her laughing gave way to a sobering realization. With all other possible housing situations nixed, she was left with rooming with only one of two people. And despite the fact that she and Josiah had always been somewhat distantly friendly, mostly because of his avid faith, and her complete lack there of, rooming with the older profiler would still be far preferable to...

"Ezra," Chris announced. "His apartment is a two bedroom, in a good neighborhood, with a doorman. No one goes in uninvited or unannounced." Sam's teeth locked down as her face twisted in a grimace. That's what she'd been afraid of.

"Pardon?"

"You Ezra," Chris repeated, with the air of a man on his last bit of patience. "Sam is going to stay with you." Also not a request.

"Mr. Larabee I hardly think my domicile appropriate..."

"You're hardly ever there and you're going to be busy with our new case, and it's the safest place for her till we get this figured out." Still, not a request.

Looking over at the undercover agent, Sam flashed him a thin, dry smile. "Personally I think you were set up."

"Shut up with the helping Hunter," Larabee grumbled. "You're going, end of discussion." The two adults said nothing, though they glowered like a pair of petulant children. Sam watched him, Ezra was obviously no happier with the situation than she. Over his shoulder she could see Vanessa, and damn, but if looks could kill. It was almost as if... Oh. Suddenly that made a lot more sense.

"Take her to your place, get her settled," Chris ordered, "then get your ass back here. We've got a lot of work ahead of us. Bureau's got a line on some gun runners out of New Mexico trying to get a foothold on the market here." Neither Sam nor Ezra even twitched. "Now," he barked, "and could you try not to kill each other on the way?"

Sam managed to hold her tongue until they reached Ezra's desk. Then she stopped, turning on him, and after a quick glance to make sure they were alone, she asked, "Seriously?"

"What?"

"Oh come on Ez, don't play dumb."

"I really have no idea what you are getting at." He busied himself gathering a few papers and his car keys.

"So you're sleeping with her?" Sam asked casually, watching Ezra's reaction from the corner of her eye. The southerner didn't so much as flinch. Oh, he was good. "Don't worry Ez, you're not slipping," she assured him with a pat on the shoulder as she began to saunter slowly for the elevator. "I don't have to read your face. I can read hers." She shrugged, "it's a chic thing."

Ezra started after her, a few steps behind. Sam punched the down button impatiently a few times, like repeatedly hitting it could get her out of the office faster. "Your, well, for lack of a better term, girlfriend hates me now, I hope you know that."

"You're being ridiculous, I hope you know that," Ezra told her. The bell chimed and stainless steel doors slid soundlessly open. They stepped inside.

"She's probably not overly fond of you right now either," Sam went on.

"Me?" Ezra hit the button for the parking structure, and the doors began to slide shut. "What on earth could I have done to offend her?"

"Well for starters..."

They were still arguing when the elevator opened into the parking garage. They departed, both blissfully, ignorantly unaware of the shadowed figure watching them head for Ezra's Jag.

Love the sinner, hate the sin. It was something he'd been taught from an early age, something he'd never quite been able to accept. That was his own failing, he knew, he expected too much from those not in touch with his savior. But they, they made his blood hot, racing through him, vengeance and righteousness. These men, they were more than sinners. They embraced it, embodied their sins. They celebrated in defiance of the word. And the world praised them heroes. He hated them for it, and hated them more for exposing his own weakness.

But they would know. They would know by the end. He would awaken the world to the path of sacrifice and true belief, and he would break their heroes in front of them to do it. But for now he watched in the dark, just waiting for the right time to step up into the light.

--

Chapter 4

Life is hectic, but I'm going to try to keep updating regularly. Please, let me know what you think!


	5. Workin Out the Kinks

Chapter 5:

A/N: I can't believe I started writing on this again, but I did, so here it is. Please feel free to let me know what you think.

-/

Ezra and Sam's bickering gave way to an uncharacteristic and uneasy silence, as they drove from the Denver Federal building to Ezra's posh two bedroom apartment. They drove to a high set of metal gates, where Ezra leaned out his window to punch a sequence of numbers into a key pad. The gates rolled open soundlessly, and they drove through and parked.

Sam extricated herself slowly from the low riding Jag. The day had already been long and stressful, even before the bomb. Every injury she'd sustained over the last four days screamed anew. She straightened while gritting her teeth, her right hand wrapped protectively around her ribs.

Lips thin, Ezra watched her every move, even though she wasn't aware of it. Sam started for his front door without waiting for him. She knew the way, and given her current top cruising speed, she figured he could catch up.

The southerner fell in step beside her quickly. His doorman stood waiting, and testament to the man's professionalism, or maybe owing to the fact this wasn't the first battered houseguest he'd seen Ezra bring home, he didn't even give Samantha's condition a second glance. "Mr. Standish," he greeted him with a nod.

"Evening Saul," Ezra returned.

They made their way to the far end of the foyer, to the bank of elevators. Sam leaned against the wall and held out her hand. "I'm fine you know, you don't have to escort me up. You've done your due diligence."

"Excuse me?" Ezra queried after he pressed the Up button.

"I know you've got to get back. Just give me a key and I can make my way from here."

"A key?" Ezra had to stop himself from shifting uncomfortably. This bordered on eerily reminiscent of his conversations with Vanessa as of late. Of course this time, he was actually considering it, a fact he was sure his paramour would object to, vehemently.

Sam bit down on the inside of her lip. She would not let him bait her. "Yeah Ez, a key. You know, it's a shiny thing, little, usually metal, so I can get in and out of your apartment?"

"I'm not sure any plan for oft comings and goings would be wise at this juncture. When Mr. Larabee ordered that you room in my abode, I believe his idea was that you would STAY inside, and out of harm's way. In which case, I would think that a key would be highly unnecessary."

"You don't actually expect me to just stay locked up in your apartment?" Sam huffed.

"Actually that is exactly what I expect," Ezra replied. "Besides, where exactly do you feel you might need to be going?"

"I don't know, out." It was a grumpy, petulant kind of answer, but it suited the moment.

"Out? The simple gross generality of that statement tells me you've no idea." He smirked, looking up as the numbers above the elevators winked downward.

"Damn it Ezra, I'm a big girl. I can take care of myself."

Ezra's head jerked in her direction. "Apparently not well enough," he snapped. He jammed the elevator button once more with his thumb. Anger coursed through his blood, and it took real effort to keep it from washing over his features. It threatened to seep through his very pores, anger at Sam, anger for what had happened, anger toward whoever had attacked her, and an almost irrational fury that he was being saddled with this extra burden. Sam's argument died on her lips. He was pissed, really and truly, and it wasn't something she was used to from the enigmatic southerner.

There was a soft ping, and the elevator doors slid open. Ezra stepped inside first without a word, not daring to look her in the face. They rode the elevator in silence, Sam allowing her head to rest against the cool metal wall, eyes shut. Her head throbbed like someone had stuffed a full drum line inside. Only the soft whir of the doors sliding open, and the promise of somewhere to sit, got Sam to move from that position. Ezra unlocked his door and held it for her, allowing Sam to shuffle inside past him. The apartment was exactly as she's remembered it, and she was struck, not for the first time that day, with the now all too familiar pang of regret. This place, these people, had felt like home once.

"You remember, I assume, the location of the guest bedroom?" The anger ebbed away, and he sought to replace it with aloofness.

"Yeah," she replied softly. Sam wandered slowly into the middle of the apartment, fingers trailing over the back of his sofa.

"The linens are fresh and I trust that you will find..." Ezra trailed off. It was obvious that she was no longer listening. She'd stopped dead in front of his end table, and her shoulders sagged.

She reached out reflexively, fingers hovering just shy of the framed photo. A lump caught in her throat, and she was more than a little surprised to feel tears sting at her eyes. "You kept it," she said, eyes never leaving the picture. God, but had she ever really been that happy?

"I happen to like that picture," Ezra answered quietly, echoing his sentiment of a few days prior. A few days, when the idea of running into Samantha Hunter had been the farthest thing from his mind. Now she was here, teetering on the edge of broken, and it hurt more than he thought it might.

Hot tears welled in Sam's eyes. She let out a slow, shaky breath, trying to steady herself. Strange, the difference a few days made. A few days, when running into the Seven had been the farthest thing from her mind, well, almost the farthest. And now, being here, it hurt just as much as she'd expected, maybe more.

"Ez..."

"Hunter..." They said in unison, trailing off.

Sam pressed her lips together and squeezed her eyes shut. The words died right there. "Mind if I take a shower?" she asked finally.

"Of course," he said, "after all, this is to be your abode for the foreseeable future."

Sam nodded. He didn't sound altogether thrilled, not that she blamed him. She turned to face him, thankful in that moment that her tears had retreated. "Thanks." Sam moved haltingly toward to spare bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, Ezra's guest room was sparsely but tastefully decorated. She sat heavily on the queen bed, sinking into the plush navy and gray down comforter. She laboriously untied the laces to her tennis shoes and then headed for the bathroom.

One look in the mirror, and Sam instantly realized why JD has been staring at her so agog. She looked like hell. Her clothes were filthy, and she shed them, ash and dirt falling slowly onto Ezra's tiled floor. Every exposed inch of skin had been coated in debris and black marks. Her hair stuck out at strange angles from her haphazard ponytail. But at least the swelling in her face had begun to recede, allowing her to at least peer out of both eyes.

She stood in the shower a long time, letting the steaming water sluice over her. A bath would have been preferable, but she wouldn't be able to soak for at least a couple of weeks, till the stitches came ot. Regardless, the water soothed her aching body and washed away all the grime and dirt. She wished it could wash away more.

Part of her was still there, when she stopped occupying her mind with anything else, when she closed her eyes. She'd been in plenty of crap situations, sure. Hell, most had something to do with Larabee and the rest of team 7, but this had been different. She'd been utterly alone, with no hope for backup. He could have killed her anytime, and the things he'd done instead...

The water slapped the back of her head and neck and Sam sucked in the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding. She turned off the water. Wrapped in Ezra's plush blue robe, Sam padded out to the living room, but it was empty. The realization struck her like a brick, a cold knot winding into her chest. She hadn't truly been alone since being kicked out of the van at the Denver ATF offices.

A note on the kitchen counter drew her attention. There, lying on a small square of yellow legal paper was a shiny silver apartment key. The note read, "This is not to suggest that I expect or encourage any sojourns on your own, but just in case. I will inform Saul that you will be staying here for the interim."

Sam palmed the key, a slight smile crossing her lips and moved toward the front door. It wouldn't take long to explore the building. Her fingers brushed over the door handle and she froze. Her heart hammered, loud enough to reverberate in her ears. Palm flat on the door, Sam leaned her head into the wood and forced out slow breaths. Then she reached out, locked the door's deadbolt and secured the safety chain. Tears stung her eyes for the third time that day and she turned away, leaving Ezra's key on the counter.

-/

The next two weeks passed with relative uneventfulness. The team had been assigned a new case, and had been spending many a long night preparing. Shipments of automatic weapons with military markers had been cropping up across the Western US. The numbers had been traced back to the base in Cheyenne Wyoming, and as the closest available ATF unit, Team 7 had been set to task.

JD and Buck had been making trips up to Cheyenne to work with local law enforcement to place wire taps on the base, while Nathan and Josiah poured over base personnel records, searching for anyone who might fit the profiler of a smuggler. Ezra and Vin were rarely in the office, running down leads from a number of Ezra's 'confidential sources'. It was one of those situations Chris preferred not to know too much, Ezra got the job done, and what Larabee didn't know, wouldn't hurt the team.

In any event, Samantha's attacker had virtually dropped off the radar. No threats, no signs, no one else close to Team 7 gone missing, though Chris had made sure Mary, Inez, Casey and Rain were kept carefully watched. Ezra and Sam, despite each of their protests had, as of yet, managed not to draw blood, and Hunter was playing by Chris' rules better than he would have expected.

That alone was enough to worry Vin. Sam had never been much for toeing the line. On the outside she appeared to be recovering well. The bruises had faded from deep purple and blue to lovely shades of yellow and green. Her ribs hurt less and Vin had accompanied her to the doctor the previous day to remove the stitches. But her eyes gave away the lie in her smile.

Vin glanced at his watch. Quitting hour, actually well past. In fact, Buck was the only other one left in the office, everyone else had cleared out to get ready to go to dinner, one of Team 7's traditions the night before any of them went undercover. Ezra, for some reason Vin still wasn't quite sure on, had begged off dinner that night. It didn't sit right with the sharpshooter, but then, Ez had been acting a mite strange for a couple of weeks. So Vin still had to run home, then swing by Ez's apartment to pick up Sam. He thought it would do her good to get out, she'd been bordering on hermit-like here lately. "Buck," Vin called across the bullpen, "It's as good as it's liable to get. So let's get."

"Now that is the best idea anyone's had around here all day," Buck said, grinning. He hit a few more keystrokes on his computer before shutting it down. They rode down the elevator together to the lobby. Buck hadn't taken two steps off the elevator when an irate looking, pretty brunette stepped out from behind the decorative ficus. The sound of her hand whipping across Buck's cheek made Vin start, Buck yelp and more than a couple people stop and stare.

"My roommate Buck?" she growled. "Seriously? Were we still dating when you go her number, or did you ask for it after you broke up with me?"

"Amy, darlin..." Buck started in his soothing drawl.

Little spots of red raised on her cheeks and her mouth dropped open a little. "My name is Ashley!" she screeched. She stared at him another moment, hands balled into fists at her sides, before turning on her heel and storming off as suddenly as she'd appeared.

Touching his cheek with one hand, Buck pointed after her with the other. "Do you believe that?"

A devilish smirk passed over Vin's lips. "So was that Wednesday brunette?"

"Oh shut it Tanner."

The two ATF agents crossed the lobby and left, entering the stairwell that led to the underground garage the building shared with the one beside it. Unbeknownst to either man, was their silent observer, who had watched the exchange with interest. Peering out over the magazine he held, he watched Vin and Buck leave, then rolled the magazine into a tube, stuffed it in his back pocket and followed the pretty brunette out onto the street.

-/

Ezra walked into his apartment. It still struck him as odd most days, to come home to a lit apartment, noise and activity. He'd been living alone a long time. Surprisingly however, Ezra found the change almost pleasant. Despite the frequent bickering, Hunter was proving to be a good roommate. She was respectful of his belongings and kept things tidy and organized. He'd also pleasantly discovered that she was more than a proficient cook, and more often than not there was a plate of food and a cold beer waiting when he arrived home. The takeout boxes that generally proliferated in his refrigerator had been replaced by fresh produce and meat.

That night though, there were no delectable odors to greet him, but then they each had dinner plans. Ezra felt more than a twinge of guilt for ditching out on the Team's customary dinner, but Vanessa had practically insisted. That series of text messages and emails at work had been annoying at best. Which was why Ezra meant to end it that night. It had gone too far, and for far too long. He didn't want to go undercover with that hanging over his head. He sighed quietly, it had to be done.

The TV was on, and Sam had her legs curled beneath her on the couch, her lower half encased in a blanket. It didn't seem to matter that it was the middle of June, she always had a blanket. She glanced briefly in his direction before wordlessly handing him a beer.

Ezra carefully folded his jacket over the back of his chair before he accepted the proffered beverage and sat beside her. Someone was dropping onions into a hot pot on the screen. "So you ever watch programming that doesn't have to do with food?" The question was largely rhetorical, so Sam just shrugged. "So when is my compatriot coming for your escort?"

Hunter hid a slight smile behind another mouthful of beer. "Vin should be here soon. Sure you can't convince Ms. Stick in the Mud to come along?"

"Vanessa," he said pointedly, "prefers to enjoy my company in private." Besides, he thought, I don't need an audience for the ensuing conversation.

"Uh huh." Hunter quirked an eyebrow.

"What exactly do you find offensive about Vanessa, if I may ask?"

She shrugged and took a long sip of her beer. Noncommittal, it was one of her more obvious tells. "Out with it Hunter."

"Well she was a royal bitch the first time we met."

Ezra nodded. "That is a reaction you tend to inspire in people."

"Hey!" She swatted his arm, but had the good grace to laugh. "But seriously?" She started to peel off the neck of her beer bottle with her thumb. "I mean, take it for what it's worth, but I've been staying here for two weeks now, which has given me plenty of time to see you together. But, when you're with her, you're someone else, someone I don't know, and not in a good way."

There came a knock on the door. Sam downed the rest of her beer in a long swallow. "That'd be Vin. I'll get it." Ezra didn't say a word.

Sam pulled open the front door and found herself face to face with a very obviously irate Agent Navarro. "Oh hey Vanessa, I thought you were..."

The dark haired woman pushed her way into the apartment, positively sneering at Sam as she did. "What bullshit was that last text Ezra?" She demanded. "And you're having beer? We're going to dinner. I don't like this."

Ezra stood, crossing his arms over his chest. "Well that much is glaringly obvious," he said drolly. "What exactly do you not like?" He heard the flint enter his voice, but he was past the point of caring.

"For one thing," she thrust a finger behind her, "the fact that she's still here. She's just making herself at home, like some parasite attaching itself to a host."

"Hey!" Sam sounded indignant.

"And you haven't said so much as a word to Larabee about it. She's fine, this guy has disappeared..."

Ezra pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighed. "I don't want to do this anymore." It came out before he could stop himself, the declaration that had long been lingering on his tongue. He'd be right earlier, it was past time.

"What?" Vanessa asked after a moment, shock reading all over her face.

"This," Ezra motioned between the two of them. "I do no wish to continue with this. Our occasional squabbles have escalated in recent weeks, and you know it."

"So you just want to end it? She shows up, throws a wrench in your life, and you just want to walk away?"

"Vanessa, this decision has nothing to do with the arrival of my beleaguered colleague. It has been on my mind and..."

"She's not your colleague Ezra!" Vanessa interrupted, yelling. "She left, abandoned the team. I am your colleague. I'm the one that's been here. Your relationship with me should at least register with you as being of slightly more importance."

"And to what relationship are you referring?" Ezra snapped in return. She was baiting him, and damn him but he was taking it. "You spend your nights here, and spend the days dutifully ignoring my existence. It was your idea to keep things quiet, you who has no interest in socializing with the others."

"What? Spend time drowning in beer and peanuts at that crappy bar? Or play cowboy out on Chris' ranch?" Ezra's face turned to stone and began to darken. "I don't want to spend my time with them, I choose to spend it with you. You're not like the rest of them."

"No," Ezra conceded. "I am not. But they are a part of who I am, an important part that you choose to gloss over. Ms. Hunter always managed to understand the value of everyone in that office, which is perhaps why she was so sorely missed." It was a dig, he knew, but she'd gone from attacking him, to attacking his family. That, would not do.

"Should I leave and come back later?" Sam's voice emanated from the doorway, where she stood, leaning one shoulder against the wall. "You know, maybe when you two are done having your little spat."

"Hunter," Ezra growled. This was not the time.

"What Ez? She seems to have a lot to say about me to you. But I'm not deaf honey," she looked at Vanessa and made a circling motion in the air with a finger, "small apartment."

"Sam..." He tried again. The two women faced each other. Ezra had seen similar expressions on fighting pit bulls once before. This was definitely not going according to plan.

"Yo Ez!" Vin's voice floated through the still open door. "You and Sammy fight like and old married couple. I can hear you from the eleva..." The sharpshooter stopped in his track just inside the door, when he caught sight of Vanessa. "Oh." Vin cocked his head to the side. "Well, that explains a lot."

"Mr. Tanner..."

"Ah hell Ez, it ain't none of my business."

"That's right," Vanessa voice was harsh, "it's not."

"Vanessa! Mr. Tanner, I assure you there is a perfectly reasonable explanation." Flustered. He was honestly flustered, it was an odd feeling.

"Which I'm sure I would love to hear, later. But we're going, right Sammy?" He wanted out, Ezra wanted them out, and he was certain Vanessa wanted both of them to burst into flames. Vin grabbed a hold of Samantha's arm and tried to steer her out the door.

Stormy green eyes never wavered from Vanessa. "Don't worry about locking up when you leave," she said, reaching into the pocket of her jeans. "I have a key." Her smile was vicious. Man but Josiah was right sometimes, fight in the dog indeed.

Ezra shut his eyes, _oh hell_. "Sammy!" Vin growled, giving her arm a sharp tug. THe lean sharpshooter shot Ezra an apologetic look, which the southerner returned with a soft shake of his head. Damage done. Vin shut the door behind them.

-/

It was late, and the members of Team 7 were the last patrons remaining in the eatery in Central Denver. Bellies full, they each sipped on their last beers, putting off the end of the day. Vin and Ezra would be taking off for Cheyenne in the morning, and the nervous apprehension hung in the air like a rain cloud. It wasn't a particularly new feeling for any of the men at the table, just a build up of energy. It was the kind of energy that kept them all sharp.

Their waitress, a cute, curly haired red head Buck had been flirting with most of the night, delivered their check. In her left hand, she also carried a plain package the size of a shoe box, wrapped in butcher paper.

Grinning, she said, "And a surprise for the birthday boy." She placed the box on the table in front of Buck.

Buck chuckled and ran a hand over his mustache. "Well that's sweet darlin' but it ain't my birthday."

She shrugged. "Huh. Well that's what the guy told me when he brought it in."

Buck exchanged a quick glance with Chris across the table. The black clad leader's face was stony, but he sat up a little straighter. Chris nodded once. Slowly, Buck peeled away the corner of the paper. JD, Vin and the others barely breathed. Nervous energy gave way to something deeper.

As soon as Buck pulled the top off the box he let out a yelp and pushed himself away from the table. "Holy shit!" Standing at his side, the red haired waitress screamed. Inside the box, the end wrapped in plastic and sealed with a rubber band, lay a human hand.

Chapter 4

I realize this has been more than forever to update, but please let me know what you think!


	6. Eggs

Chapter 6

/

A human hand. Buck shoved himself away from the table so hard and fast water sloshed out of many of the Seven's glasses. The waitress began to scream, and did not stop.

"Nathan!" Chris barked across the table. "Get her out of here and try to calm her down. Then call Denver PD. They're going to want to get down here. Nathan nodded, steering the trembling, now hysterically shrieking waitress out into the next room.

"Josiah, get a call to Ezra. I don't care what he's doing, I want him here ASAP." Josiah nodded, whipped out his cell and left to make the call where he could be better heard.

In the meantime, Buck settled his breathing and approached the box. The hand had been severed at the wrist, and the wound appeared cauterized. It belonged to a female, long pink tipped nails sitting atop bloodless skin. Beside the hand, lay a name tag, Ashley. Buck started to feel ill. Beneath the name tag rested a small, folded piece of paper with Buck's name written across it in block lettering. Looking more than a little green, BUck reached in and pulled out the paper. He unfolded it, and began to read.

"What does it say Buck?" JD questioned.

Buck raked his teeth over his lower lip. When he started to talk his voice was unsteady. "Buck Wilmington," he began with a deep breath, "This city holds you up as men of honor and law, but in upholding the laws of men, they and you forget God. Repent and find your lord. This woman suffers for it. This city had need of cleansing, and you and your brethren must be shown to be false idols. So here, Buck Wilmington, is your sin. You have 24 hours. And then I shall lead you to judgement."

He let the note drift out of his fingers as he sat heavily in his chair. "Ashley," he muttered dully.

"That was the girl," Vin prompted, " the one from earlier tonight, wasn't it?" Buck nodded, not looking at the sharpshooter.

"Wait," Chris interjected, " you saw this girl today?"

"She was in the lobby when we were headed out," Vin answered.

The table shook for the second time that night as Chris slammed his palm down. "Damn!" This guy has been watching us, probably been right under our noses." The blonde's face was a mask of fury. "JD, soon as you get the chance I want you scouring every second of security footage in the building for the last two weeks.

"My sin?" Buck murmured quietly. Chris fell silent, and he placed a hand on Buck's shoulder. "Ashley ain't no sin, she's just a waitress. A pretty lil rosebud..."

"We'll get this figured," Chris reassured. "Whoever this guy is, is twisted in the head. He ain't right. We'll find him, and her."

Vin glanced over at Sam, who had yet to say a word. She had her right hand stretched out in front of her and was staring at it, and her fingers trembled. "How you doin?" he asked her softly, mindful of the others.

Hunter tore her eyes up to meet his gaze. Her hand snapped back into a fist, and she pulled it quickly beneath the table. "I'm fine." She forced a smile. "Guess in the grand scheme of things a few fingernails isn't so bad huh?"

Vin shook his head. "Sammy..."

"Vin, I'm fine." She cut him off sharply.

The sharpshooter bit down on the inside of his lip. She wasn't going to let him push this, not here. So instead he just said, "Your sense of humor is terrible, you know that?"

She breathed a small sigh of relief. "So I've been told."

-/-

Ezra showed up a few minutes after the Denver PD. Vanessa tread like his shadow a few paces behind. "I take it Ms. Hunter's assailant has once again graced our ranks with his version of the Holy Word?" Chris silently held up the box containing Ashley's dismembered hand. "Lovely."

"She's alive," he told the undercover agent. "or so he claims. Says we have 24 hours to find her, or he's going to make a very public display of her death, and this thing is going to spin out on us. As soon as Josiah gets back I want you helping him go through records. Anyone we've busted with strong religious affiliations."

"I take it then, that Mr. Tanner and I will no be making a sojourn to Cheyenne in the morning?"

The blonde leader gave a sharp shake of his head. "Too risky. I'm handing the case off to Team 2. If Henderson has any questions I want you to fill him in."

"But that's our case," Vanessa protested, speaking for the first time. Chris wasn't entirely sure, but he thought her eyes looked red.

"Yeah, well now this is," Chris said. "This girl's going to die if we don't do something."

"And how many people are going to die if those weapons hit the streets? Let Denver PD handle this. Henderson's team isn't..." She trailed off when she noticed Chris' icy glare.

"Did I give you the mistaken impression that this was up for discussion?" Chris asked lowly. Vanessa clenched her teeth and met his gaze. Silent for a long time, Chris finally said, "In any case, with this nutjob coming after us, I'm not about to send two members of my team undercover in a potentially volatile situation. There's no was to know how much this guy knows. But if you're dead set on this, go join up with Team 2 and leave us to our business." It was no less than a dismissal.

Color rose in Vanessa's cheeks. Their business, as in, not her, not one of them. Angry, hot words pressed at her lips, but she only spun on her heel and stalked away out of the restaurant, shooting Ezra a smoldering glare as she passed him.

Chris watched Vanessa leave, parting a wake between officers as she went. Indifferent, he'd never felt that way about a member of the team leaving before. But then, the team had become like a second family, and family Vanessa was not. The thought didn't thrill him, but there wasn't a damn thing he could do about it.

"And you," he turned his sights on Hunter. There was a barely perceptible widening of her eyes, before she shut down, and her face closed itself to him like a bank safe. "We need to talk."

"About?"

Chris barely suppressed an eyeroll. She knew full well what, she just wanted to be difficult. She was always difficult. Hunter, a perpetual thorn in his ass, just like the rest of them. He didn't bother answering what he surmised to be a largely rhetorical question. "Go give your statement to the PD. I'll have a squad car take you back to Ezra's, but I want you in my office bright and early.

Arguing would have been pointless, so Sam didn't even try. Simple dread wound its way through her stomach. "Yeah," she nodded, mouth like cotton, "sure."

/-/

The next morning was a somber one in Team 7's bullpen. None of the had made it home the previous night, and it showed. When Sam walked in at nine in the morning, six sets of dark circled, bloodshot eyes greeted her. Good morning seemed completely inappropriate, so she kept her mouth shut, shoved her hands in her pockets and headed toward Chris' office, trying to shake off the sick feeling she'd had since he'd said they needed to talk. She was walked through a group of half dead men to her own execution. Ugh. It was a stupid, irrational thought really, but then, rational rarely won out in the face of stupid.

Buck barely registered Sam's presence when she passed him. His eyes were fixated on his computer terminal clock. It had turned traitor on him, mocked him, it taunted. Thirteen hours left, and each minute that ticked by dug him a little deeper His sin. His fault Ashley was in such a mess. And at that particular moment they were not a lick closer to finding her than when they'd started. Buck could have yelled. Instead he took another deep swallow of his long cold coffee.

Someone plucked his cup straight out of his hand. Buck glanced up at JD before taking the new cup from him. "How you holding up?" JD asked.

"Just can't figure it kid," he answered. "In that note he goes on about punishment for my sin, so why take Ashley? Why not just come after me his own self? I could stomach that a whole heap better."

"He's a coward Buck. It's sure got to be a lot easier for him to go after a bunch of helpless, unsuspecting women than one of us."

Buck grunted a little. "I wouldn't let Hunter or Vanessa hear you call them helpless. They some pretty little Texas rosebuds to be sure, but those thorns are mighty sharp."

JD cast a mildly apprehensive glance toward Hunter's receding back. "Well, I didn't mean them exactly."

"Somehow," Buck sighed, leaning against the back of his chair, "I don't think either of them would see the distinction." He sipped his coffee. Hot, and black as tar, just like the kid always made it. There was something comforting in that. "Josiah come up with anything useful on the religious angle?"

JD shook his head and frowned. "Nope. He calls it your sin, but Josiah pointed out we're all sinners, if you really want to take a hard look at it. Just, none of our sins seem like they'd amount to justifying murder in retribution."

"She ain't dead yet," Buck's voice was quiet, firm.

"We'll find her Buck." The ladies man looked to his taunting clock once more. Twelve hours, forty-eight minutes.

-/-/-

Sam rapped lightly on Chris' door before slipping inside. Phone pressed to his ear, Chris glanced up at her and pointed to a nearby chair. Sam sat. This was already looking to be a less than pleasant conversation, no use starting him off on an irritated foot.

"Yes... yes... thank you detective. If my team turns up anything, or if he tries to make contact again you'll be the first to know." He set the phone back into it's cradle. Steely gray-blue eyes stared silently through her for a long moment. Then he got up, walked to his office door and shut it. Sam squirmed in her seat. Yeah, definitely one of THOSE conversations. She'd only ever had one other closed door, private meeting with Larabee. She'd fucked up, badly, and he'd handed her her ass on a platter, deservedly, but still.

Chris perched on one seat bone on the edge of his desk. "PD faxed me a copy of the sketch artist's depiction of our guy based on the waitress' description." Reaching behind him, Chris grabbed a sheet of paper and handed it to her. "Look familiar?"

Hunter took the paper from his hand, but didn't glance at it. She put it in her lap, face down. "I told you, I didn't see the guy's face."

"Yeah," the team leader nodded, those damned eyes never wavering. "Take a look anyway."

"I don't see what possible point..."

"Look at the picture Hunter," Chris said again.

Her heart slammed against her chest, hard. Not only did she not want to look at the sketch, she wasn't sure she could. So it came out as anger, and she just yelled. "What the hell do you want from me Chris!"

"I want you to be straight with me!" he bellowed back. Every action has an equal and opposite reaction. Chris' anger was more than a match for her own. "I know from the word go you've been holding back on me. Doc at the hospital said you were doped up with amphetamines. I know you were awake, and I know you remember more than you've been saying."

"I told you everything that would be helpful," Sam hissed, the paper crinkling in her hand as she made a fist.

"That's not good enough Hunter," Chris pressed. A small niggling voice of guilt pressed at him, but he pushed it aside. He couldn't let himself care. He had to know. "Look at it."

"Why? What's the point? So I can have his face in my head too?" Fueled by anger and resentment, the words began to pour out. "Do you want to know how it felt when he took a pair of pliers to my busted hand and ripped off my fingernails? Or maybe the dread when he came at me with that stupid fucking knife and started playing Picasso with my ribcage? Or the feeling of dirty water from the floor of that stinking room that he'd throw me back into when he was done?"

"The floor was wet?" Chris asked suddenly.

"Yeah it was wet! It was wet and it smelled like rotting eggs and..." Sam's voice trailed off. "Like eggs," she murmured. Green eyes met blue. "Like sulfur." Chris nodded. Samantha sighed and shook her head. "You suck Larabee."

"Tell Vin and Ezra and have them start looking. Trains transporting sulphur head through the Front Range all the time. There are plenty of manufacturing uses for it around here, especially fertilizer. You thought you heard tracks. See what they can find, and if you're up for it, go with them. See if anything jogs your memory."

Sam nodded, rose, and headed for the door. At least now there was a plan, and she felt like she had a purpose. It was better than wallowing in self pity by a long shot. "Hunter," Chris' voice stopped her short at the door.

"Yeah?"

"If we couldn't forgive each other every time one of us screwed up, we wouldn't have much of a team left." Sam felt an upswell of affection for the man in black. The corner of her mouth quirked upward. It wasn't absolution exactly, but it was a start.

/-/-/

Vin and Ezra managed to locate three sites adjacent to railways that had connections to sulphur, and were near enough to water sources that a wet basement floor would not seem out of the ordinary in an older building. The first location, off 76 nearing Golden, turned out to be a bust. So Vin had turned around, and headed for Aurora.

Vin's truck was not exactly the most trusty vehicle, and Ezra's Jag too small for three people, so they had borrowed one of the ATF's black Excursions. Sam sat quietly in the back, gazing mutely out the window. In the front seat, Vin and Ezra were hardly any more chatty.

Finally Ezra broke the uncomfortable silence. "I can't help but feel like you have something you want to say to me Mr. Tanner," Ezra said blandly.

Vin's teeth clenched, Ezra watched the muscles of his jaw flex. The sharpshooter gave a tight shake of his head. "Nope."

"Really? Nothing at all? Not even about my liaison with the lovely Ms. Navarro?" Sam sat up a little straighter in the back seat. This had the potential to be way more interesting than the landscape sliding past.

Vin's hands flexed on the wheel, his chin tilting ever so slightly sideways. "Nope." Sam slumped back down. So much for interesting, Vin wasn't biting.

"Because truly, if you have some seldom heard pearls of wisdom regarding office space romance I would be all ears, as they say." He was like a pit bull with a bone. "I'm sure it came as a bit of a shock..."

"A shock?" Vin repeated. "Straight outta left field is closer to it. And as far as me and my pearls? I only got one, don't do it. I mean seriously Ez, Vanessa? Really Vanessa? And then you didn't even think to mention it to..."

"Stop," Sam's voice cut in from the back seat. Her mouth was suddenly dry. Her open hand slapped Vin's shoulder, and the Texan started, the Excursion swerving slightly. "Stop!" This time she yelled. A cloud of dust rose up around them as Vin quickly pulled off the road and hit the brakes.

Ezra turned in his seat. "Would it be possible for you to NOT to terrorize the man driving the vehicle?"

Sam wasn't paying attention. Fumbling with her seat belt, she scrambled out of the SUV, eyes riveted across the street. Exchanging a look, Vin and Ezra followed her. "That sign," she said, pointing to a half lit, blinking red gas station sign across the street. "I remember that sign." She closed her eyes, and suddenly she was back there, in the van, hands and feet trussed together. "I saw it, through the rear window."

"That fertilizer plant is two blocks from here," Vin murmured to Ezra.

"Feeling in the mood for a walk Mr. Tanner?"

"I'm thinking so." Vin trotted back to the Excursion, grabbed a few extra clips and two radios, and handed one to the southerner. "Stay here Sammy," he ordered.

"The hell I will," the command snapped her back into the present. "I'm not staying here while you two go marching off into God knows what. It'd drive me nuts. Give me a gun, and I'll come with you."

"I can't believe you wouldn't give me a gun," Samantha hissed a few minutes later. "Not like you two don't carry extra." The three of them approached the deserted fertilizer plant in the shadow of the neighboring building. Vin and Ezra walked two abreast in the lead, Sam just behind.

"Forget it Sammy," Vin said, voice hushed nearly to a whisper. "You're way too jumpy. Probably wind up taking a pot shot at some stray cat, or lay a slug into one of our asses."

"Mr. Tanner, I implore that you not give her any ideas. Hunter, get that look off your face."

"What look?" Sam asked, feigning innocence.

"That look."

"You're in front of me, you can't even see my face. There's no way you can know about a look."

"I assure you, I absolutely can."

"Enough!" Vin snapped. "Both of you." He shook his head. Next time, he assured himself, he was volunteering someone else to work with them.

The three of them approached a side door. They'd fallen quiet, all pretense of levity and banter cast aside. Vin led, and Sam tucked in close behind Ezra at the rear. The side door had no window, so Vin pressed himself flat up next to it. Ezra leveled his weapon as Vin reached out for the door handle.

The door swung inward with only the faintest creak. Sam tensed, half expecting... something. But all remained still and quiet, and after a moment Vin made his way inside. There were no lights on inside, the corridor stretching before them black and seemingly endless. Vin and Ezra both pulled small flashlights. They moved stealthily inside the darkened hallway, lights aimed at the floor just in front of their feet. Vin led, treading carefully around errant piles of debris and crumbling mortar. The air held a lingering dampness. Some twenty or thirty yards beyond the entrance the corridor split in a T. To the left, a staircase, wrought iron, leading down deeper into the belly of the dark.

Vin peered back over his shoulder. In the beam from his flashlight he could tell that Sam's face had turned gray. 'Down,' she mouthed silently. The sharpshooter nodded and began to descend, wincing a little with each squeak of the stairs. At the bottom of the stairway lay another hallway, two doorways either side. The smell of mold and wetness was stronger here, as well as Sulphur and something metallic. Vin had the sickening thought that it was probably blood.

Using hand signals, he motioned for Ezra to check the room on the left, while he cleared the one on the right. In the dark, with virtually no light, it would be far too easy for someone to sneak up behind them from an unchecked room. So they'd split up, clear each, and move on from there.

Ezra moved cautiously into the room, weapon raised and ready. He swept the light everywhere. The room was empty. A stack of old pallets rested haphazardly in one corner, and the walls were streaked by dark grime. Ezra hit his radio. "All clear."

The southerner scanned the room one last time. "What in the..." Ezra trailed off. He'd moved his light up along the walls and noticed words scrawled everywhere in dark paint. They were difficult to read, the dampness making the paint drip and run. "Excess of ambition, which to cause a transgressor's ruin," he murmured. The words felt like something familiar just out of reach. He rolled them over and over again in his head. It was right there, he knew it, but didn't know why.

"Hey Hunter," he called away into the darkness behind him, "come here and take a look at this."

"Uh..." Sam's voice shook. "Ez?"

He turned to look at her. He stopped cold in his tracks. His gun arm snapped up reflexively. Samantha's face wasn't just pale, it was completely bloodless. "Let her go," he ordered.

The man had a heavy, muscular arm snaked around Sam's shoulders, the barrel of a 9mm pressed close to her temple. "Now do you see why I wanted a gun?" she asked, strain accentuating each syllable.

"Shut up Hunter," Ezra growled. "Let her go," he repeated.

The man wasn't especially tall, and carefully kept his head shielded behind Sam. Ezra had no shot. The man tightened his arm around her, and began to press her for the open door. His words came out in a low hiss. "One word of warning to your partner and I blow her head off."

"Ah hell," Sam breathed. "Don't tempt him."

"Hunter," Ezra's voice edged on exasperated, "are you trying to get shot?"

"Not in particular, but come on Ez, girl's entitled to some last words right? Might as well make em quippy."

"That was not quippy," Ezra told her.

"Get out of the way," the attacker snapped. "And lower your gun."

"Personally," Vin appeared in the doorway, "I think you might need to worry about me too. Two against your one," the Texan drawled, "your move."

"I will kill her," he snarled.

"Well then that'd give me a right easy shot on you, wouldn't it?" Vin asked.

"Would somebody please just shoot him?" Sam couldn't take any more. She shook like a leaf.

"Shut up Sam!" Ezra and Vin yelled together.

Then the barrel of the 9mm peeled away from her temple, and Sam felt herself being flung sideways, straight into Ezra's line of fire. At the same time, the attacker sent two wild shots in Vin's direction. The sharpshooter threw himself sideways as he pulled his own trigger, but the shot went wide. The kidnapper bolted forward, throwing his shoulder into Vin's midsection. He lifted the small man off his feet, slamming him back into the doorjamb, before sprinting away down the hall.

Blood pounding, Vin was instantly on his feet again. "I'm going after him," the sharpshooter yelled. "Ezra get Sam out of here."

"Vin wait!" It was wrong. Ezra knew it in his gut.

"He can't get away," Vin flew after the man into the dark hall.

"Sam?" He swung the flashlight into the middle of the room. Sam scrambled to her feet. His light found the painted words once more.

"I'm fine. Go!" The undercover agent didn't move. "Ezra?"

"Hubris," he uttered the word, heavy as a brick.

"Excuse me?"

"Hubris," he repeated. "He seeks to punish us for our sins. Pride." Fear bloomed. "It's a trap."

-/-

Ezra raced alone the corridor after his partner as fast as the darkness would allow. He'd tried the radio twice already, but was met with only static. But he was gaining, he could hear footsteps ahead of him now. Sam kept pace on his heels.

Meanwhile, a hundred yards ahead of Ezra, Vin's arms pumped at his sides as he ran. He couldn't shoot. Couldn't risk it in the dark at a dead run. They needed him alive to find Ashley. So he gave chase, and the gap was closing. He felt it in his bones, and his legs pumped faster, breath heaving.

Ahead of him, maybe twenty yards or so, illuminated in the narrow beam of Vin's light, Ashley's attacker slipped through a heavy door in the middle of the passageway, slamming it behind him. Vin flew. He'd wrenched the door handle, opening it a scant number of inches when Ezra's warning behind him reached his ears. "Vin, stop!" The sharpshooter froze, fear and dread welling and overflowing.

The explosion was deafening. For the briefest moment, Ezra's eyes were filled by blinding brilliance. It was like daylight in the caverns of hell. It surrounded Vin, before the billowing cloud of debris and destruction obscured him from view. The ground beneath Ezra's feet shook wildly, cracks shooting along the walls as the entire building groaned in protest. He felt Samantha pressed close to his back just before the shock wave carried him from his feet, threw them both to the ground, and the roof caved in.

-/-

Chapter 6

Please let me know what you thought! I'm having fun writing this, hope you're having fun reading it.


	7. Escalation

Chapter 7

I'm glad people are still reading this! I know my updates are a bit sporadic. To the person who asked, yes I know the difference between Mine and Mind. Also, I'm glad you're liking it, but VIn was never in a relationship with Sam, though it had crossed my mind a time or two.

/-/

The dust was so thick he could hardly breathe. He choked on it, like some invading parasite, into his nose and mouth, until it coated his tongue and teeth. He felt the grit of it on his skin. His ears rang. Ezra shifted, sending chunk of debris sliding off his back and legs. He drew himself up onto his knees and drew a silk handkerchief from his pocket and covered his nose and mouth. The knees of his slacks were in tatters and his right side stung crazily, but otherwise everything seemed to be in working order. He'd been lucky.

The steady buzz in his ears was interrupted by staccato coughing. Ezra groped around in the dark till his fingers found the smooth handle of his flashlight. He slapped it against his palm a few times. The light sputtered and then flickered on.

Light refracted off the dust that hung in the air like a thick gray cloud. Sam lay just behind and to the right of him. A large beam had fallen from the ceiling, imbedding itself in the floor just next to Sam's right shoulder. She'd been lucky too. Her hair and face were shellacked the same deathly gray color, and he imagined he looked much the same. On her left temple a gash oozed blood, mixing with the layer of dust and congealing into dark cement. One arm pressed over her ribs she sat up, slowly, and gave him a wobbly thumbs up.

"Vin," Ezra choked out. He drew himself onto his knees, lurched to his feet and then helped Sam up. She kept a hand on his back as they stumbled through the ruined passage toward where the doorway had once stood. Closer to the source of the explosion the damage to the building was far more extensive. Large chunks from the ceiling had fallen in and pipes spewing water hung down out of space. Soon they were having to scramble over piles over debris. Ezra started to feel numb. Vin... The beam from the flashlight flickered. They were running out of time. Soon they would be left in complete darkness. His stomach twisted, and an acidic bite worked its way to the back of his throat.

Ezra first saw his hand, palm up, lifeless fingers hanging slack. Behind him, Sam sucked in a quick breath. Ezra panned the light over his friend, quickly assessing the situation. What had once been a large hunk of the heavy door obscured the better part of Vin's torso. His legs had been pinned by two sizable hunks of concrete. The sharpshooter lay eerily still, his eyes shut tight. The entirety of the left side of his face was awash in bright red blood, the wound flowing freely enough that even the thick caking of dirt could not stem it. Ezra knelt, fingers quaking as he reached out to check for a pulse. He couldn't begin to describe his relief when he felt the slow, steady thump of Vin's heart beneath his fingertips. "He's alive," he told Sam, surprised by the heavy catch in his voice. "My guess is that the door shielded him from the worst of the blast."

"Small miracles," she murmured.

Passing the flashlight to Samantha, Ezra grasped the edge of the door with both hands, struggling as he shifted its weight off Vin's chest. "Here, help me move this off his legs," Ezra motioned to a large chunk of roof that had fallen in. Clasping the small light between her teeth, Sam moved to stand next to the undercover agent. The slab that pinned Vin's legs was at least two inches thick and the size of a small end table. Together they crouched, grasped the concrete, and lifted.

Beneath the slab, Vin's left leg lay at an impossible angle below his knee. Broken, Ezra thought, probably in a couple of places. Then, from beneath a gaping tear in the sharpshooter's jeans, blood burgeoned. It quickly soaked his pant leg and began to ooze on the floor. "Shit." The southerner pulled speedily at his silk tie, tearing it from around his neck. As gently as he could manage, Ezra slipped the tie around Vin's leg and tied it tight. It wasn't much of a tourniquet, but it would do.

"Good reason to wear a tie," Samantha remarked.

Overhead, Ezra heard something groan, then give a soft crack."We need to get out of here, now."

Sam glanced upward nervously. "Yeah, I'll second that. But can we move him? What if he hurt his neck? Or spine?"

"We'll have to risk it," Ezra said. He pulled his gun from his waistband and handed it to her. "You lead with the light." Grim faced, Samantha nodded and took the weapon. With the cast still on her right hand, there was no way for her to hold the gun, so she held it in her left, hoping it didn't look as unsteady as it felt. If anyone tried to get the drop on them, they'd have to be awfully close for her to find her mark. The thought did not give her comfort. Then Ezra knelt, and with a soft grunt, heaved Vin up onto his shoulders in a fireman's carry.

The walk out of the warehouse seemed to take forever, even after they made it out of the ruined corridor. It was tense, and Ezra strained beneath the weight of the lanky sharpshooter. By the time they'd reached the top of the metal staircase, Ezra was in a dead sweat. The dead air in the building became stifling. Stepping outside into clean air was a gift, and the sounds of approaching sirens a bigger one. Samantha helped Ezra ease Vin onto the pavement several yards from the building. In the clear light of day the sharpshooter looked unnaturally pale. The blood from his head wound had begun to clot, and it lacquered his face.

The Denver police cars were the first to speed into the lot. Sam quirked an eyebrow at Ezra. He shrugged. "You've got to admit, blowing up the better part of a building wasn't exactly an exercise in subtlety. I'm not surprised it got called in so quickly."

"I could care less, just so long as there's an ambulance attached to their little entourage."

"That," he cast a worried glance down at his injured friend, "is a sentiment I sincerely share."

Three police units formed up around them in a rough semi-circle. "You may wish to relinquish your hold on my weapon Hunter," he said calmly. "These gentlemen look a bit jumpy." Samantha set the gun on the ground at her feet and held up her hands. Ezra stood from where he knelt beside Vin. He kept one arm raised while he reached slowly around for the badge clipped on his belt by his hip. "Federal agent," he called out, his voice ringing with the kind of authority people didn't tend to question. Gun still drawn, one of the officers stepped out from behind the protection of his vehicle. He approached warily, until he got a good look at Ezra's identification. He holstered his weapon, and the rest of the officers followed suit.

"I've got an agent requiring immediate medical attention," Ezra barked. "And I am going to need you gentlemen to put out an APB on a suspect fleeing from this location."

After that, things happened quickly. The paramedics arrived on scene, having been waiting just down the block for the all clear. Immediately, they immobilized Vin with a C collar to a backboard. One man inserted an IV while the other began to apply bandages and pressure to his leg. Ezra waved off any offers to get checked out. His side was littered with bruises and small abrasions, but it wasn't anything he couldn't live with. He did, however, usher Samantha into the ambulance beside Vin's stretcher. When she attempted to protest the undercover agent quickly silenced her.

"There's nothing else for you to do here. Go with him. Keep an eye on him, and get that looked after," he said, pointing to her head.

"Ezra I'm fine..."

"Because I haven't heard that before," Ezra said mockingly. "Go. Now." Grudgingly, Sam clambered into the back of the ambulance. She couldn't do anything there, Ezra was right, but she couldn't do anything here either. And Vin was so pale and still. She slipped her hand around the Texan's, careful to stay out of the paramedics way as he worked. Another EMT slammed the back doors shut and the ambulance took off, sirens wailing.

/-/

Several hours later, Chris, Buck, and Ezra arrived at the hospital. Nathan immediately descended upon Ezra, scrutinizing every inch of the recalcitrant southerner. Ezra let him fuss for a moment, knowing it made Nathan feel better, but it wasn't long before he began trying to shoo the other man away. He chewed on the inside of his lip and the acidic tang returned to his mouth.

"What do we know?" Chris asked.

Nathan peeled himself away from his ministrations. "He's still unconscious at this point. He suffered a pretty severe blow to the head and the doctor's worried about internal hemorrhaging." Ezra's stomach dropped. He should have stopped him, should have been faster with his warning. Hell, the guy never should have gotten the drop on him in the first place. He tore himself from his thoughts. Nathan was still talking. "... The break isn't pretty, but it could have been worse. They've stopped the bleeding, but he's going to need surgery when he stabilizes to place a couple of screws in his tibia. He's got some 2nd and 3rd degree burns, but those will heal. Josiah's with him now."

Chris nodded slowly. "I'll go take over," he said, quiet. The lean Team leader moved off, and no one tried to stop him. Close as he was to all the members of his team, he and Vin shared an especially tight bond.

"You find anything at the warehouse Ezra?" JD queried as Buck took up the seat beside him.

"It took a while for the bomb squad to give an all clear on the premises," Ezra sighed. "And unfortunately our quarry managed to repeat his stellar vanishing routine. The room we first encountered him had a trap door, hidden behind a stack of pallets. We procured a number of his tools, a hacksaw, some other implements, but nothing we can use to track him. And aside from some blood, which for all we know could be Ms. Hunter's, no sign of the girl either."

"Four hours," Buck put in miserably. "She's running out of time."

The four of them exchanged knowing looks. "So we don't allow such an atrocity to occur," Ezra said with more certainty than he felt. "Mr. Tanner is in eminently capable hands, and there is nothing to be accomplished by waiting here for more ill news."

They all nodded, though not one moved. The words, true as they were, didn't help much. They were torn, between searching for Ashley and remaining with Vin. Finally, Nathan spoke up. "You know, if he was awake he'd tell us all to stop fussing and to get back to work."

"But he's not awake," Ezra snapped in return. All eyes in the room turned on him, surprised by the uncharacteristic outburst. Ezra sighed. "Apologies."

"Look," Nathan reasoned, "I'll stay. The rest of you should get back, try and find this bastard. I'll call if anything changes."

"Good," Ezra nodded, "Let me collect Hunter, take her home and I'll meet you back at the office." The others nodded, and Buck rose after JD stirred from his chair. It was easier this way, being told what needed to be done, rather than getting lost in their own heads, Buck's pain, Ezra's guilt.

"And ah, where is Ms. Hunter?" Ezra questioned, making one sweeping look around the waiting room, currently devoid of smart mouthed female occupants.

JD scratched his head. "I, uh, think she went to get coffee." He looked at his watch. "Like, half an hour ago."

Ezra sighed, "Not a worry. I'll meet you all back at the office within the hour." It wouldn't take him long to find her. He had a pretty good idea of where she'd gone.

He found her outside. Sam had managed to clean up a little, but her hair was still more gray than copper, and there was a distinct line on her neck separating clean skin from filth. She leaned her forearms against the railing of the second story patio, staring outward towards the mountains as the day crept closer to twilight. "So much for coffee," he said by way of greeting.

"No," she answered softly, glancing briefly down at the paper cup sitting by her left foot. "Yours if you want it. Pretend it's meant to be cold." She went back to staring at the mountains. "How'd you know I'd be out here?"

"You only drink coffee in the morning," he shrugged. "And you're not much for crowds when something's bothering you." Samantha twisted in his direction to get a better look at him, shooting him a thin half smile. He knew her too well. A stark white butterfly bandage adorned her brow just above her right eyebrow.

"I'm fine."

"Uh huh."

Sam chewed on her lip for a long time. "What if he's not okay?" she finally asked, fighting back the sting of tears.

"Mr. Tanner will be fine."

"But what if he's not? Ez, I screwed up so much, and I haven't made it right with him yet."

"He will be," Ezra insisted. He squeezed her arm, reaching up to absently touch the bandage on her head. He offered a wry smile. "I dare say his head is even harder than yours." She couldn't help herself, she laughed.

"I heard what happened," a third voice came from the doorway. Ezra turned smartly away from Hunter, hands dropping to his sides. "I came to make sure you were all right," Vanessa went on. "I see you're doing just fine." The dark haired agent held her neck stiffly, her jaw locked down tight as she glowered between Ezra and Sam.

Ezra felt himself trapped somewhere between guilt and annoyance. "Vanessa!" The dark haired agent simply wheeled away. "Vanessa! " But she was gone, and Sam had pulled away from him once again, into silence and distance. Ezra sighed. "Come on," he muttered, "I'm taking you home."

/-/

"Nothing!" Buck threw his pen down on his desk a few hours later. "This guy's better at hidin' his footprints than a rattlesnake on asphalt! Ez, you sure you didn't find something useful at that warehouse? I know there was a lot goin on but..."

"I assure you Buck," Ezra drawled, "had there been some obvious sign such as 'violent perpetrator this way' i would have followed it."

"You think this is some kinda joke?" Buck bristled.

"Are you doubting my ability to do my job?" Ezra threw back, temper running short. It had already been a long day. "So what? You're blaming this incident on me? This is my fault?" Ezra's eyes sparked.

"No," Buck snapped. "I'm sayin that ever since you walked in on Sam in that hospital room you've been off your game. And maybe you should try to focus a little more here." The accusation burned in Ezra's chest. "Don't go thinkin I don't understand what seein somethin like that done to a girl can do to a man, but the stakes are too high right now."

"Are you suggesting..."

"I am suggesting," Buck made himself take a breath, "that you care about her, like we all do, and maybe then some." He saw the self doubt ripple across the southerner's face, just for a moment. "And I know part of you wants to still be mad at her for leavin in the first place, and you two are right good at bitchin like some kind of old married couple. But that's coupled right along with that part of you that wants to apologize for not bein there when all of it happened. And it's throwin you sideways."

"That's preposterous!" Ezra snorted.

"Is it?" Buck asked. "You're tellin me you don't care?"

Ezra didn't answer, the words giving him more pause than he cared to consider. "You want to apologize to Ashley?" he asked.

"Damn right I do. And it don't make a damn bit of sense at all, but I do."

Ezra nodded softly, clasping a hand to the other man's shoulder. "I really hope you get that chance."

But at 10:20 PM they were no closer to finding Ashley Miller. The office had fallen strangely silent. And then Buck's phone rang. The entire bullpen froze at once. Buck took the cell off his desk, his breath coming short and shallow. "Hello?" he answered, his voice thick.

"Your time has expired Mr. Wilmington," the voice at the other end of the line said. "And as of twenty minutes ago, so has your little friend. I have said a prayer to God for him to take mercy on her sinner's soul."

"Mercy?" Rage seethed past his teeth. "You asked God to grant her mercy? It wasn't God that did this you sick son of a bitch, it was you!"

"And I am an instrument of our Lord."

"What gives you the right to judge?" Buck's voice swelled and broke with emotion. Gone. Ashley was gone and he'd been unable to stop it. "You should ask for mercy for yourself, because when I find you, I'm going to rip you apart!"

The voice at the end of the line laughed and clucked his tongue. "Now, now Mr. Wilmington, that is very close to another serious sin. I had hoped you would learn from this. But even if you don't, the world will know."

Even the tips of Buck's ears had turned scarlet. "I am going to kill you. I am going to hunt you down..." The line went dead. Buck stared at the phone in his hand for a moment, his shoulders heaving as he breathed. Then he spun, flinging the phone away from himself with a cry. It shattered against the wall. No one spoke. No one moved.

"Guys..." JD's voice was paper thin, and hollow, but in the quiet of the room it resonated like a gunshot. "I think we have a problem."

"And what would that be JD?" Chris asked stonily. "I'd say we already have a problem."

"Yeah well," JD's head tilted as he stared at his screen, his lips twisted in a grimace. "This could be quantified as a second problem, a BIG problem."

Josiah asked, "What?"

"I just got an email, pretty sure we all got it actually." The youngest member of Team 7 turned the screen so Buck and Ezra, who had come up behind the taller man, could see. The body of the email contained a single link, and the subject line read 'Time's Up.'

Buck's stomach dropped into his boots. "No." His fist struck the top of the desk with a bang. "Tell me he didn't."

JD clicked his cursor onto the link. A second window popped up. The image was dark, but the three men found Ashleys form amongst the gray haze of the picture. She was bound, he good arm strung above her head. She sagged against her bond, her other arm dangling lifelessly at her side, the end wrapped in a dripping, bloody bandage. She looked directly into the camera, her mouth moving in what could only be a plea for mercy, but her attacker had cut the sound.

"No," Buck said softly, sinking bonelessly into a chair, head sagging into his hands. "No, no, no."

The camera panned downward, to a large pile of rocks, approximately the size of baseballs. A gloved hand reached out for one. "Dear God," Ezra muttered behind him breathlessly.

"It gets worse," JD announced to them both. His tongue felt heavy and his mouth dry.

"Praytell, how exactly could it be worse?" Ezra queried.

"It's not live, it's a video. He linked it through DU's Facebook page," JD shook his head miserably. "It's been sent to every student, faculty member and graduate that has DU sourced on their profile. It's gone viral."

-/-

It took eighteen minutes and twenty-three seconds for Ashley Miller to stop moving. And when she did, a voice had played over the speakers. "We are all sinners in this world. But in these modern times we have ceased to repent for our actions, and instead begin to worship false idols, embodiments of our sin. And is that so far from letting the Devil himself into our hearts?"

The video image shifted momentarily, then refocused on Ashley's sagging body. "This woman took one such man into her bed. Look closely at your heros Denver, and see them for what they are. Buck Wilmington of the Denver ATF, you share in this."

"Ah shit," Chris muttered.

The voice went on, and a figure clad head to toe in black stepped in front of the lens. A long hunting blade dangled in his hand. "Jesus once spared the life of a whore sentenced to stoning, and forgave her. I cannot forgive this woman, but I can take mercy on her soul and send her on to the one who can."

Grasping Ashley's hair in one hand, he took position behind her and lifted her chin, til her broken, bloodied face was presented to the camera. Buck's stomach rolled. He was going to be sick. There was a slight flare of Ashley's nostrils. She was still alive. Then, with a hard jerk, the man on the video slid the blade across Ashley's throat. Blood cascaded outward. Her body spasmed. Buck lost his dinner in the waste bin.

"I challenge you Denver, to cast down these false idols and turn again to your God. This is the first sin. Not the last." The screen clip ended.

Within the hour, every local Denver/Front Range channel had interrupted it's regular programming. The video raced through the virtual world, across DU, to Boulder, to Colorado State and then across the country. By morning, Ashley Miller's very public murder was National news. Ashley's picture was plastered on every TV news screen, newspaper and web site. More than a few of them had Buck's picture as well. Chris had been locked in his office for nearly twelve hours, but not till he'd sent Buck home, and JD along with him.

"Take him to sit with Vin, get him some pills to make him sleep, hell, get him drunk," he'd instructed his youngest agent. "But he doesn't talk to anyone, got it JD?"

More than a little grim, JD had ushered his nearly catatonic friend out of the office. They'd taken the stairwell. Almost immediately thereafter the phone had started to ring. The brass upstairs wanted answers, yesterday. Chris stonewalled their advances to get to Buck. No way was he going to let his oldest friend be the fall guy for the motivations of a psychotic. No way in hell.

It went on in much that manner for a day and a half. Chris was fried, his temper stretched tighter than a drum. Vin was still unconscious and according to JD, Buck hadn't seen sobriety in nearly 36 hours. Reporters had congregated outside their CDC apartment, but JD had the blinds shut and the doors locked. They were running three men down, with virtually no clues.

So when Chris' office door swung inward at 9 AM two days after Ashley's death, Chris was ready to rip the head off the person who stepped through the door. He needed to unleash on someone. The fight rolled up in his chest. A familiar blonde head slipped inside. "Mary," he breathed, some of the anger slipping away, though he still had to muster more patience than he felt at the moment. "You know I can't discuss any possible, ongoing investigations," he said gruffly.

"So you are investigating Ashley Miller's death then?" Mary questioned, her voice innocent and probing, all at once.

Chris bit down on his lip. Sleep deprivation must be kicking in, he couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or growl. Tenacity was one of Mary's more endearing characteristics, one that made her an excellent reporter. It was also one of her most frustrating. "That's not at all what I said and you know it."

"Does the Ashley Miller case have any connection to Sam's attack?"

Chris shot the pretty blonde reporter a sharp look. Sometimes she was too intuitive for her own good. "You been talking to Hunter?" he asked stiffly.

"Not about this," Mary said truthfully. Not that she hadn't attempted to press the matter, but Samantha had clammed up immediately. "I went with her to see Vin yesterday," she explained. "It was pretty obvious something was bugging her."

"Vin's unconscious in the hospital. Of course she's upset. They were real close, once."

"It's more than that," Mary countered. "And while we're on the subject, what happened there?"

Team Seven's leaded laced his arms across his chest and lifted an eyebrow. "You asking as a reporter, or Vin's friend?"

Mary flushed, suddenly embarrassed. "Off the record," she said softly, "as a friend."

Relaxing his stance, Chris ran a hand over his face, which Mary suddenly realized looked more than a little ragged. Worry fleeted briefly across his eyes. "He hasn't woken up yet. Docs have him on anticoagulants and blood thinners. They're worried about a clot."

Mary waited, patient. He had more to say, but she knew better than to press. "Sam's with him most of the time. It's good..." he shrugged. "Makes her feel useful. Keeps her out of trouble..."

"But you wish you could be there too," Mary finished for him.

"We all want to be there, we ought to be. But we've got to find this guy before anyone else gets hurt."

"So it is the same guy," Mary said. She couldn't help herself.

"Mary," Chris growled a little. He took two steps closer, and Mary felt the familiar little thrill of being so near to him. Then he reached out, clasping her shoulders in his hands. "Stay clear of this Mary, please. This guy is dangerous."

"Chris, it's my job to investigate and present facts to the public..."

"Oh don't feed me that damned line about journalistic ethics," Chris snapped. "I've already got one person in the hospital that I ca..." he stopped himself. "Please," he repeated.

"I can't promise you that Chris," Mary shook her head, "but I'll try."

-/-

He smiled warmly to the sister behind the gate. Eyes narrowed, she looked him over carefully. He resisted the urge to shake his head. Such suspicion from a lady of God. This was the problem. The world had forgotten.

Eventually his patience and smile won out, and the nun reached into the pocket of her habit to remove the gate key. "Thank you sister," he said with a voice rich and smooth. "I know that Josiah would want Hannah to receive this gift."

The sister was young, pretty enough to bring a man to sinful thoughts and deeds. A trial for a pure woman. He felt for her burden, and for a moment considered helping relieve her of some of that weight. He could feel the switchblade in his pocket. But he didn't retrieve it. That was not God's mission for him now. Perhaps later, when this was over, he could help ease her of some of that responsibility.

Hannah herself was a soul in torment, that much was clear. He wondered how much of that was contrition for her brother. Hannah stayed by herself in a small room in one wing of the abby. Light flooded into the room from large windows. It was cooler here than in the city, though still quite warm, and Hannah wore an old, long sweater. It engulfed her diminutive frame as she stood in front of an easel, paintbrush in hand. Long, disheveled hair fell down her back, tufts of premature gray coloring the dirty blonde locks.

"Hannah?" The sister spoke quietly. "Hannah you have a visitor."

She turned, something like life flickering through her eyes before she sighted him and realized that he was not Josiah. He thanked the sister for her time and waited till she departed before he approached Hannah.

"I have a gift for you," he said lowly. "A gift from Josiah." He pulled a small, drawstring bag from his pocket and dangled it in front of her. She eyes him warily, but held out her hand. He smiled, drawing the bag just out of reach. "It is meant as a surprise. You must wait for me to leave, or it will very much ruin it. You should count to one hundred and then see. Do you understand?"

Hannah did not respond verbally, but merely gave one quick jerk of her head and snatched the parcel from his hand like a starving beggar ,might grab at a heel of bread. She held the pouch jealously against her chest and backed away from him. "It will bring Josiah to see you child," he told her, his voice smooth. "You will see." He smiled, coldly, and turned on his heel, retreating through the abby the way he'd entered. He had just slipped inside his waiting car when the screams erupted from the walls.

/-/

Chapter 7

Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading! "


	8. Waiting Bedside

Chapter 8:

A/N: This story is developing a bit of a life of its own. Please let me know what you think of it!

-/-

Josiah was fit to be tied. The burly profiler stormed through the bullpen, leaving a swath of destruction in his wake. The desk he and Nathan shared had been swept clean by one of his massive arms after he'd gotten the call. The former medic would have itched to straighten it, but it would have been as effective as building a house in the path of a Class 4 tornado.

"Josiah," Chris appeared his doorway, Mary's wide eyed, blonde head poking around around the Team leader's right shoulder. The big man went on with his rampage and Ezra grabbed the computer monitor off his desk as Josiah passed. "Josiah!" Chris bellowed. "My office, now!"

The profiler stopped dead in his tracks. His face still held a tinge of purple, but he spun on his heel and marched into Chris' office. Mary scooted out as soon as he was through the threshold.

"I've never seen Josiah so angry," Mary breathed as the door thunked shut behind the tall profiler.

"I'm afraid Mr. Sanchez just received some rather disturbing news," Ezra offered, his head hidden from her behind his computer.

"What news?"

Ezra pushed his chair back from his desk and shot Mary a toothy grin. "Ah sweet Mary, you know that I hold you in the highest regard, but you can hardly expect me to give up information so easily."

Exasperated by the lot of them, Mary sighed. "I wasn't looking for a quote."

"Well until the words 'off the record' pass your lips, you'll have to forgive my guarded tongue."

Mary locked his eyes for a minute, blue boring into green, but Ezra never even twitched. He might as well have been bored. The blonde reporter let out a sigh. "Off the record," she acquiesced. A treasure trove of information and good stories, and not a single squeaky wheel, a reporters nightmare.

"He went to Red Feather," Ezra stated simply. Mary blanched. Hannah.

"Oh my God," she breathed. "Is she..."

"No," Ezra gave a sharp jerk of his head. "Our perpetrator did not see fit to commit such an atrocity, but from what I've gathered he did terrify the poor girl. I believe Josiah will be venturing there forthwith."

"How long will he be gone for?" she questioned. Vin was out of commission, JD was with Buck, who was in no state to be working, and Nathan spent most of his days sitting vigil at the hospital. Team 7 had quickly deteriorated into a team of two, and both Chris and Ezra were beginning to show the signs.

The southerner gave a tired shrug. "Tonight would be the earliest he could return, but I'd wager a day, or two. "

"And how's Vin?" Mary questioned.

"The same." Ezra did offer to expound, just turned back to his computer, and Mary didn't press. As far as the undercover agent was concerned the conversation was over. Mary didn't even try to push her luck. She just gave a tight lipped smile, touched Ezra's shoulder briefly, and left. Ezra hit the return key a little harder than usual.

"Fingernails and bloody teeth." Chris grimaced. "We've got ourselves a collector."

"My sister's damaged soul should not have had to borne witness to this evil." Josiah's chest still rose and fell in enraged waves. He would rip this man apart for tormenting the last blood family he had.

"I'm sorry about Hannah Josiah."

The burly profiler forced himself to take a deep breath and stemmed his outrage. It would get him next to nowhere, he knew that from experience. "Any leads from the video?"

Chris shook his head miserably. Now that Ashley's abduction and murder had become National news, the brass upstair had started throwing around their collective weight. Despite their previous dismissal of the case as a one time incident, now Chris was under pressure to 'shore up the problem or face paid administrative leave for himself and the rest of Team 7 until the case was put under wraps. Larabee had met with deaf ears when he'd tried to explain that putting Team 7 on leave would not stop this man.

"So we're nowhere," Josiah muttered.

"At the moment," Chris agreed with a small nod. He threw his pen down on a stack of papers on his desk and thrust himself back in his chair, running a hand through close cropped blonde hair. "Take your time at the Abbey," he instructed. "Nose around, see what you see. We need answers, and I'll take them any way I can get right now." The profiler nodded, then left quickly eager to be on his way. Chris sat alone in his office, and his shoulders sagged. "Shit."

It was dark when Ezra trudged his way into the Critical Care unit of Denver Memorial Hospital, and well past visiting hours, but most of the staff had been around long enough to see one or more of Team 7 through it's doors, and none of them bothered to argue the point anymore. Visiting hours were for normal people. They just didn't apply.

Nathan sat in the waiting area, immersed in the New York Times crossword, a container of half eaten Chinese food sitting abandoned beside him. Ezra sat heavily on his right, reached over and picked up the container of food, stirring it with the chopsticks left inside. Chicken and snap peas. And it was cold. Disgusting. Ezra finished the container off i less than two minutes and never tasted a bite.

Nathan finished writing his last answer and folded the paper into quarters, tucking it away beneath the book he'd brought. The one with the four page first chapter he'd read at least eight times, and still didn't know what it said. "I've been thinking."

"A perilous endeavor."

Nathan shot the southerner a withering look. "Like I was trying to say, I've been thinking and... don't you find it a little strange?"

"Don't I find what a little strange?" Ezra was hard pressed to keep annoyance out of his voice, though he managed. He was tired, and his quasi functional brain was unwilling to work to figure out where Nathan's logic was heading.

"All of this that's been happening. It bothers me that this guy knows so much about all of us."

Ezra shrugged. "We are his poster children for immorality and sin. Makes sense he'd do his research on us. And in this age of readily accessible public information, not terribly hard to come by."

"Maybe," Nathan frowned, "maybe not. But take Ashley and Buck for a minute. JD and I have girlfriends, and we're not married to either. But he knows enough to label Buck the playboy?"

Ezra quirked an eyebrow. "To be fair, that wouldn't take more than a few weeks of observation in order for a person to reach that conclusion."

"And Samantha? How'd he even know about her? That's not a week or two of following us around that's near on two years. Just don't sit right with me."

Ezra felt the flesh on his arms prickle. He lowered his voice. "Surely you are not suggesting that this vile perpetrator be someone inside the agency?"

The medic shrugged, "Perhaps, or maybe some local beat cop feeding him information."

"Now that is a disturbing train of thought."

"Yeah," Nathan grunted, "no kidding."

"I'll let Chris know when I return to the office."

Nathan shot him a sideways glance, taking in Ezra's uncharacteristically bedraggled appearance, even if for Ezra bedraggled meant an open collar, crooked tie and an unruly patch of hair that stood akimbo to the rest. "You taking Samantha home and then going back?" Ezra nodded absently, his mind already racing through the likelihood of finding a traitor in their midst. "When was the last time you had a decent night's sleep?"

"Perhaps a day, or two," Ezra replied, suddenly cautious.

"Right. Which means more like four or five. Go home Ezra. Eat. Sleep. You're not gonna help anyone running yourself ragged."

"Maybe."

"Definitely. Don't make me get Chris involved."

Ezra ignored the threat. "Where is Ms. Hunter anyway?" Nathan sighed. Ezra deflected well. Always had.

"With Vin," Nathan supplied. "It wasn't your fault you know Ez, what happened to Vin."

A muscle in Ezra's jaw flexed. It was as close to cracking as Nathan had ever seen Ezra's poker face get. "You weren't there." he returned softly. Without waiting for a response, Ezra walked away.

Nathan, for his part, didn't follow the undercover agent. It wouldn't have helped anyway. Ezra reached Vin's private room and paused, leaning his shoulder against the door jam, hesitating to cross the threshold. Monitors inside beeped steadily, and he took some small comfort in it, along with seeing Vin's chest rise and fall beneath the thin bed sheet. Half the sharpshooter's head had been shaved so that the doctors could clean and stitch the six inch long gash that decorated the side of his head. Vin was going to have a fit about it when he woke up. Ezra grinned, but it faded quickly. If he woke up.

Next to the bed, Sam had dragged one of the room's two chairs. It wasn't exactly plush, with its wood arm rails and minimally padded seat, but she had somehow managed to curl up in it. She was like a dog that way. She had her feet tucked up beneath her, head lolling against the backrest, left hand stretched out across Vin's bed. It lay carefully across his fingers, so as not to disturb the IV that ran out of the back of his hand.

Ezra almost felt bad for waking her, until he saw her eyes crack open into slits. "You don't have to try to be so quiet," she said lowly, "I wasn't sleeping anyway."

"Not to offend your feminine sensibilities," Ezra returned dryly, "but your current appearance clearly gives away that particular fact." To call her disheveled would have been kind. Her hair was pulled back in a loose, sloppy knot and it was dull. Dark circles beneath her eyes made her face look sunken and her skin was pale and drawn. She'd lost weight too.

"You saying I look like shit?"

"I'm saying it looks like you haven't slept. Have you slept?"

"A few hours."

"Uh huh. And I take it showering has been out of the question as well."

"Funny."

"I wasn't joking."

"Well next time the nurses come in to give Vin a sponge bath I'll ask to get in on it."

"Or you could do us both a favor and take an actual shower back at my domicile."

"I'm not leaving." She turned away from him, obviously hoping to end the discussion.

Ezra wasn't about to be deterred. "Yes you are. Nathan's orders." Okay so not exactly true, but close enough. "Besides, you're starting to frighten the orderlies."

Sam grunted. "Funny twice." She kept her eyes averted, but Ezra could see her start to chew on her lower lip. "He killed that girl, and he made a show out of it. He nearly killed Vin. If I hadn't let him get the drop on me..."

"Stop." Ezra cut her off. "Just stop. I cleared that room before you ever went in. Or at least I thought I cleared it."

Sam sat up then. She hadn't meant then, she'd been thinking of the garage. She could have stopped all this before it started, but she hadn't been strong enough. But that's not what Ezra needed to hear, so instead she said, "If I'm not allowed to play the would-a, should-a, could-a game than neither are you. We could do that all damn day."

"Fair enough," he agreed without further argument. He didn't mean it, but she needed to hear it. "Now come on, you need to sleep and I highly doubt you'll manage it adequately in that chair." Samantha shifted her position and grimaced, her leg was asleep. Still, as she stared at the lithe man lying prone in the hospital bed the indecision was etched upon her face.

"Nathan's here. He won't be alone and I'll bring you back in the morning before I head in," Ezra assured.

Sam took another long look at Vin before she relented with a nod. A bed and a shower did sound good, and the sharpshooter had been upgraded from 'serious' to 'stable' condition. And really, Ezra looked like he could use a night at home. The two left Vin's room side by side, walking wordlessly out of the hospital toward Ezra's Porsche, each lost in their own thoughts.

Later that night, Ezra had to admit there was something to be said for coming home to comfortable clothes and a hot shower. He stood beneath the steady stream of hot water for a long time. He'd let Hunter shower first of course, it would have been discourteous for him to do otherwise. Plus, he hoped that by the time he finished his ablutions she'd be asleep, so he could slip out and return to the hospital.

Shifts be damned. Nathan, Ezra and Josiah had reluctantly accepted them during working hours, mostly because Buck was still on leave, and JD with him, and having the ladies man in the hospital was better than him brooding in the CDC. Since Vin's admission into the hospital however, all the members of Team 7 had spent their nights there.

Ezra carefully set his suit for the next day inside his garment bag that lay open across his comforter. Then he stole quietly across the hallway, expecting, hoping, to find Hunter passed out in her room. The thought gave him a moment of pause. Her room. When the hell had that happened? He shook his head. Regardless, she was not there. A frown creased his lips and Ezra padded out into his living room.

The TV was on, the volume low. Illumination from the screen flickered kaleidoscope lights over the small form on his couch. Hunter lay on her side, half covered under a blanket. She was asleep, though as Ezra neared he could see that it was less than fitful. A sheen of sweat covered her face and neck. She clenched the blanket so tightly to her chest that her knuckles had turned bloodless. She twitched.

"Hunter," Ezra said softly. Sweat beaded upon her furrowed brow. A quiet whine of protest eked from her lips. "Hunter," he said again, loathe to leave her in such a state. He reached out to touch her shoulder.

A scream ripped out of her as she launched herself off the couch. Ezra jerked backward as she lunged at him, but her casted arm managed to strike him on the collarbone. The sound of plaster hitting bone made for a nauseating crack. Despite the shooting pain, Ezra managed to catch Sam's next wild, blind swing. He twisted her arm, spinning her around, trapping her in a bear hug that pinned her arms to her sides. She railed against his grip.

"Hunter!" Ezra yelled. "Sam!" She thrashed again, her heel squarely meeting his shin. "Hunter it's me, calm down. It's okay."

She must have woken, because the fight drained quickly out of her, until she stood solidly on her own feet. But he could still feel her tremble in his grasp.

"Let go of me," she said quietly.

"Have you finished utilizing my person as a pugilist's target?"

"I'm fine. Let go."

The moment Ezra released her, she shot away from him. She brushed hair out of her face with her good hand, not meeting his eyes. "You care to explain that?" he asked.

"Just a dream. It was nothing."

"Really?" The southerner arced a dubious eyebrow. "Because the hematoma you just inflicted on me while attempting to cleave my collarbone in half would suggest otherwise."

"Cute."

"Hunter."

"I'm fine," she snapped. "You just surprised me."

Ezra peeled down the collar of his shirt to inspect the damage. Already the skin had turned a dark purple-red. It felt warm to the touch, and even the light press of his own fingers made him wince. Surprise generally ended in laughter or a yelp, not ice packs and Ibuprofen.

"You're not fine Hunter." He was pushing, and he knew it.

"What would you know about it?"

"Nothing," he responded flatly. "Not one thing, because you're too damnably stubborn to talk about it."

Sam stared at him, jaw locked down. Her eyes brimmed with pain, but she couldn't, wouldn't say anything. The words were stuck halfway in her throat. Ezra threw up his hands. "Forget it. You're never going to change."

"I don't know what you want me to say," Sam murmured. "I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to stop running, but you can't, can you? You've been doing it your whole life." He nodded to himself. He knew the signs, if anyone did. "Things get tough, you get backed into a corner and you turn tail, or you lash out. It's your default setting."

"Wow," she said wonderingly. "You're really still pissed at me for leaving."

"You give me any particular reason not to be?

"I seem to recall someone telling me that you ran away once too."

"I came back," Ezra bit out.

"Did you somehow miss me standing, right here?" Sam asked, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"It shouldn't have taken you a year and a half!" Ezra yelled. Hunter's eyes shot wide. Yeah, the uncharacteristic display of emotion had surprised him too. His face grew hot and he ran a hand over his mouth as he reined back his temper. When he spoke again his voice had regained its customary droll indifference. "It wasn't even a choice you made. It was circumstance that brought you back. So I think you're still standing with one foot out the door. I think you're scared."

Sam grunted. "I'd have to be stupid not to be. This guy is a complete psycho."

Ezra shook his head, a humorless smile playing over his lips. "That is not the scared to which I am referring." That did it. Silence. Fear and indecision choked her, made her mute. He nodded, it was no less than he expected. "I'll be at the hospital. Try and get some sleep." He slipped gingerly into his jacket, grabbed his keys and left without looking back.

Chapter 8

Ok, I know this was a long time coming. I have started 9 already though!


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